The Sorcerer & the Magician DISCONTINUED
by L'Archange
Summary: A mischievous being is so bored that he offers a human girl a wish. Nothing is free and the price for granting this wish increases as time runs out... Will Erik finally find happiness? CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM WELCOME. RATE MAY CHANGE FROM T TO M IN FUTURE
1. Julian: Bored Desperation

**A/N: Okay folks, I know this doesn't appear to be a Phantom fiction at this point, but I need to introduce some characters before I can get into the plot. Erik won't be around until the scene is appropriate i.e. France, Paris circa 1881, but I hope you will still consider trudging through this to get to the good stuff i.e. parts with Erik. It all had a significance, so I hope you can be patient.**** Well, I hope you enjoy this...**

**And it would honour me if you reviewed. Thank you!

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Bored Desperation 

**Julian**

It was autumn again, and peering beyond my window this time provided nothing different than countless other times, even if the trees hadn't been the same last year or a hundred years ago. I took no interest in the V-shaped flock passing a grey cloud, the foreshadow of a cold, white blanket, annually arriving, melting to spring; followed by a summer of lush green expanse, offering my interest nothing new to dwell on. Yes, there were times that I made the snow stay all year or others when seasons came annually but I had tried it all and was bored beyond belief.

In the recent years, my purpose had begun to elude me. I was going mad with trying to keep myself occupied, and the harder I tried, the more in vain it seemed to be. At this point I had almost lost track of time, spending so many centuries playing, not utilizing time to the fullest. Had I ever? Of course time was much more easily wasted without a guilty conscience if there was an unlimited amount allotted to you. But it really failed to inspirit my motivation. I simply yearned for something new, something fresh; unlike I had ever seen in my thousands' worth of years in existence. I had only hoped that I wouldn't have to go beyond the familiarity of my little universe to seek out what ever it was I needed.

It had been years since I had watched a human, and as cliché as it would sound to one, I owned a mirror that reflected any plane of existence or reality that I wished. With a small grunt I touched my mirror's surface, my mind drifting from one pathetic person to the next. Humans irritated me with their pathetic self-pity, their habit of becoming complacently comfortable with mediocre lives. I wasn't sure what if was that I was searching for, but of course I would know if I should see it. Mentally I controlled what I saw; limiting the criteria to shorten the search – perhaps if the ideal candidate came along, I could play around with them for a while, make them squirm, make them grateful to be alive. Perhaps I would choose someone of high authority, so involved in their own ego that they would go crazy from my tricks. That thought delighted me as I've always been curious about humans' trivial sanity, their realities teetering on the smallest nuance. Change one thing, and the outcome was comedic. It really had been a long time and I wondering why this idea hadn't occurred to me sooner.

_Which one to pick? Which one is lucky enough to be my little hamster_?

The city I picked was overcast with heavy rain clouds, thunder just rolling in. Randomly I picked a girl, in her teens, scurrying from the first few droplets that were threatening to turn into a downpour. Just as she thought she had time to run around another block, I rushed the cloud and ripped in open myself. Her black, wiry curls hung soaked, and I was pleased when her expression caused me to chuckle. I never would have expected so many curse-words to come out of such a slight, petite young girl. Her eyes lit up to the sight of an approaching bus and she began to run towards the stop nearby. With a slight gesture of my hand her pocket mysteriously sprung a leak and her change scattered about the wet sidewalk. More lovely curses came out of her mouth, but I was beginning to feel slight sympathy for the girl, when I saw her teeth chattering. I allowed her to recover her change just in time to get onto the bus, but playtime was far from over.

When she got off the bus, she only walked a short distance before coming to a little community of houses stuck together, row upon row. What horrid living conditions! How can someone choose to live so close to another? Anything smaller than a castle would not have suited my preferences.

"Oh my God, you're all wet!" A face peered out through the crack of the slightly opened door.

"June!"

In response to the shriek that came from the human I had been observing, the girl from within abruptly pulled her inside.

"Gees Elisa, what happened?" Her friend asked in awe as she made sure to lock the door.

So her name was Elisa… Elisa shot her a baleful look, "What do you think?"

Her friend, June showed her palms defensively, "Hey chill – do you want a change of clothes and we can put your clothes in the dryer." There was no verbal response but once June gave her the change of clothes and a towel, I remained where I was, lest I be witness to more than I would have wanted.

To keep myself occupied during the time of Elisa's absence, I watched her friend as she sat on her bed, strange wires coming out of her ears, with a thick, tattered book in her lap, amongst scattered sheets of papers with scribbles. She was making jerky movements between subsequently pressing buttons on a small device when she wasn't holding her pencil to her mouth and mouthing words into it.

How long had it been? Ninety-something years?

I watched this scene with keen interest for a moment, realizing what a difference a single century made for human kind; how different they had become since the last time I saw them.

June was not as willowy as her friend, her hazel eyes appearing dark as she struggled with whatever she was writing. She didn't seem to be enjoying herself. My curiosity got the better of me and I slid through the pane of my mirror, which acted like a portal, bringing me into the same room as I had been observing. I moved to stand beside her to look more closely at what she was doing. It was Mathematics. And it appeared she had erased her problem often. Next to it on the margin, I noticed a doodle of a cloaked shape, shrouded in shadow. Interesting…

An instant later when I whiffed out air amusedly, she turned, her eyes shooting up to look at me, but I knew that she only saw empty air.

Or did she…?

"Strange…" she grumbled and returned her attention to being frustrated with the problem at hand.

Had she seen me come through into her world? That was impossible…yet, she heard, or saw, or _felt_ something.

My heart was racing at this point, when her friend, _my hamster _emerged from the hallway. She climbed onto the bed and sat against the wall beside June, who was still suspiciously eyeing the space that I was occupying.

"What's wrong?"

June momentarily questioned her own sanity before answering, "Do you ever get the feeling that you're not alone?"

Her friend didn't look as though she considered the question, and simply shrugged. "Do you want to watch a movie?"

June closed her Math book in resignation, releasing a huge sigh of relief, "If you stop being a grouch." She answered simply, without delay.

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So? What do you think so far? I know, I'm sorry, there's no Erik yet… but he's coming!! It's just a couple more chapters without him and it gets into our favourite character and storyline… 


	2. Julian: Unseen Presence

**Unseen Presence**

**Julian**

My poor hamster-human was a comedic relief of a nervous wreck who seemed to spiral so easily toward utter insanity. Day upon day, week upon entertaining week, there was always something that made her grateful for a single uneventful hour. Sometimes I granted it, and it paid off well, because the longer the time spanned between spurts of bad luck, the more nervous she would become.

Over the time that I had observed this Elisa, I took note of how she acted with her good friend, and often I found my tricks to be just punishment for what I could see to be unrequited respect. But why did I even care about that? These were a couple of humans, well below my own standard of respect. Yet, I was addicted to causing her duress, and then convinced myself that I looked forward to accompanying her to her friend to see the results of my tinkering. But to a small degree, I knew that seeing her friend calmed something so deep in me that I ventured no further to understand it.

Elisa had often complained that her hair was unmanageably thick and now it seemed it was becoming more manageable. Everyone was beginning to notice the changes in her, except her parents, who were off on some business-related trip, their daughter tended to by the non-English speaking housekeeper. The conversations in that household were less than interesting if at all existent. June also noticed something was off (and had been progressively so for weeks now). Elisa was visiting her again, and like the previous time, they were in June's room, Elisa was seated by her feet at the foot of her bed, supposedly watching the television contraption. This had been the only activity they had spent together doing, and from the visible, distraught state of Elisa, her eyes practically bulging from her head, there was nothing much else they could have been doing.

Indeed I had done many frightful things to her; Elisa was now terribly afraid of the dark, slept on the floor (from her fear of her bed) and banished all round things from her room (which tended to start rolling all by their innocent selves).

Her friend was trying to soothe her by brushing her hair, but stopped when she realized a lot of her hair was staying on the brush.

For a moment she sat frozen, looking from her hand full of dark curls, and seemed unsure how to bring up the subject.

"What is it?" Sensing the tension, Elisa frantically swirled around quickly as though she could feel a creepy crawly making its way up her back. I knew all too well what her reaction to that was since it was done.

June made no effort to hide the large ball of hair she had pulled from the brush.

"I know, I'm going to bald soon, aren't I?" Elisa said softly, not at all concerned. "I don't care… that's how bad it is."

June's usually lovely features contorted into one of utter concern.

"How bad what is?" June asked, perhaps pretending nothing was amiss. But that's not what she meant, "What's been happening to you? I see you less and less – and now…I'm sorry, but you seem…off your rocker somehow."

I couldn't help but snort at June's lack of delicacy.

"I know."

Silence interrupted the girls, and June was looking around the room as though she was listening to the wheels in her head turning. Elisa stared for a moment and asked her what was wrong.

"I thought I heard something…someone. Did you-?"

"No… and that's not a good sign; maybe my lunacy is rubbing off on you…"

Another silence followed, during which June glanced about the room, wondering to herself about something, and her friend's face grew dark.

" I should go."

"But-"

"I have a lot of things to think about… and I need to call my parents…I… think I might be losing my mind," she stood by the door, with her bag and coat, ready to depart. "I'm afraid to be alone with my own thoughts…"

"Elisa-"

"I'll call you later."

June sighed when her friend turned to leave, and shut the door behind her. It must have been from the realization that nothing she said was going to convince her to stay. Again, she sighed, more out of resignation and sat onto the edge of her bed. She sat this way for a while, appearing to be in deep thought. Before I could see for myself what lay in her head, her eyes shot up to look through me, though once again, it felt as though it was straight at me.

It was quite disturbing the way her hazel eyes seared through me. This had happened quite often and it was now that I realized I was looking forward to when June took notice of my unseen presence. I had also taken enjoyment is seeing her worry about her friend, how faithful, how kind she was, no matter how impatient her friend was behaving, or how rudely.

Another idea was brewing in me, but I didn't quite know what it was yet, as I watched June go to her school bag and take out the same textbook as the last time I was here many nights previous, though she turned to a page closer to the end, sighing disappointedly. When she opened her notebook I was standing directly beside her, and watched over her shoulder as she began to draw another cloaked shape into her notebook, this one holding a lantern, standing next to a boat. I realized there were a lot of similarities between her little drawing and the sporadic posters that were taped to some spots on her wall. They were all titled the same, bearing the same, elusively cloaked human. A part of me recognized my own mode of dress, apart from the contrasting white half-mask on the posters. What also occurred to me then, as never before, was that many things in her room had the same theme.

_The Phantom of the Opera._

Perhaps, I would stop bothering her friend until she got better. Why not _temporarily_ switch my target and find a different kind of amusement? The dark glare she shot me in that moment encouraged me further, while I was able to convince myself that there was no more fun to be had for now, where her friend was concerned.


	3. June: Be Careful What You Wish For

**Be Careful What You Wish For**

**June**

Just as I was about to see his face (or hopefully a mask), I was ripped from the wonderful, fanciful dream involving a caped man. Grumbling to myself and unwilling to open my eyes, I fumbled blindly on my dresser to find my alarm clock's snooze button. I dreaded to know the time but after a quick glance at the display, I whiffed out a hopeless breath.

_Time to get up!_

Was it a cliché to hate Mondays?

Once again, I would be forced to face another day of scheduled torture. It would be an entire week of torture, in fact. It was nearing exams, and I dreaded looking at the test preparations we would be doing for Finite. All of the other classes were okay, and I wondered in my half-conscious state, why I had chosen to take Finite Mathematics, when I knew my strengths were elsewhere to the extreme. Peer pressure was bad; no matter what the purpose for which it is was used. But I did blame myself, for against my better judgment, I wanted to be in the same class as Elisa, and she didn't do a lot of pressuring. When it came to all things scholastic, she excelled effortlessly. Teachers adored her, while no doubt wondering how two people with such different academic records could be such close friends, although, recently, she had been quite unlike herself toward me.

Bent over the sink and humming to myself, I washed my face, then my teeth, while thinking of all the fun times we had had over the years, and the recent days that she seemed to become a different person. As I wiped my mouth with the facecloth, I glanced up to peek at my hair in the vanity above, only to catch a glimpse of a dark shape directly behind me in the mirror. When I glanced back up, it was gone, and staring back at me were my bewildered features, my hair standing up on its ends, though purely by coincidence. With trembling hands and a soft smile from recalling my dream, I brushed out my hair until it resembled something respectable, while wishing desperately that I wouldn't have to go school today.

Once I had put my hair up for a shower, I began to undress until that sensation came again. The one that made me feel as though I wasn't alone, and that there was a pair of eyes observing every move I made.

"If you have any manners, then you will not come in here." I stated from within the confines of the bathroom, though felt ridiculously foolish upon closing the door.

When I emerged out of the bathroom, I was back in my nightshirt, and proceeded to dress as discreetly as if I were in a change room full of girls at school. Perhaps my brain was in a haze from the hot steam at this point but to my relief I could no longer feel the invisible lurker.

As usual, I listened to the Andrew Lloyd Webber musical version of Phantom while gathering my school things and any other items I would need for the day, including my mp3 player, some writing books and my favourite fountain pen. Stepping out of my room I threw a yearning glance at the dark cloak hanging on my wall, wondering why I couldn't wear it.

_Although it wouldn't look half as good as it does on Erik._

I had just finished lacing up my first boot when my mom came downstairs with her pink robe and fuzzy piggy slippers, holding a cordless handset.

I could only hope I would look that good in a flannel robe in my forties.

While scratching her head above her ear with the antenna-stub, she told me that she just got off the phone with my school. Apparently there was some sort of gas leak, and all classes were cancelled for the day.

Overjoyed from this news, I hardly felt the quick chill that ran up my spine. A tiny voice in my head was pointing out that I had somehow managed to get my wish, but while rushing to free my foot, it virtually went unnoticed. Considering it no more than a fluke, I was nonetheless grateful that I could finish my previously abandoned Math homework.

On my way up the stairs I squeezed my mom around the shoulders in fierce excitement and her only reply was a half-covered yawn. I couldn't wait to get into comfortable clothes again, and curl up at my window with my favourite book. It was a book I had read countless times and I was sure beyond all doubt that I would never get sick of it. Entering my room, I smiled at the first Phantom poster, and sensing the observer again, I blushed as I greeted it, from the thought of what I was imagining. I could pretend it was Erik…

_Oh Erik…_ From within my gut, I silently yearned, once again, that I could meet him.

_Okay, so I would do two Math problems and then curl up and read_, I thought in reply to my reproachful conscience.

Having painfully trudged through the two Math problems, I shoved the work back into my school bag and reached for my book from under my mattress.

By the time my mom came up to tell me that dinner was good to go, my beloved Erik was once again crying as he was talking to the Persian, and my eyes and nose were noticeably red from crying with him. No doubt from this sight, my mom pursed her lips, and shook her head affectionately before giving me a peck on my forehead.

That was the only thing Erik ever got… but if only, if only I could give him more. I knew it was ridiculous to have such a wish, because millions felt the same way. Even if some force could hear me, why would they decide to grant it for me? What made me any more unique than millions of other girls, hurting, wishing to love Erik for himself? And just like those millions of girls, I really would have given anything to be granted the chance to show his beautiful soul that it deserved to be loved and that having someone's love was not an impossible thing. Even if he was stick-thin and if he had a "smell of death".

_Wouldn't you smell funny from living without the sun for years and spending most of your time lurking near moist air?_

I was so tired of being foolishly, hopelessly, romantically in love with someone so not of my time or world. My brain was compensating for the foul mood I felt approaching and it seemed to flip, I sat like an amused witness.

_I would drag you to Acapulco, though I don't think they had sun tan lotion back then. _

I couldn't help but giggle to myself at the thought of caring for the Erik suffering from sunburn. Oh the irony.

_He'd have a mask-mark._

During dinner, my mother was eyeing me strangely when I couldn't keep a straight face after being asked whether I wanted any roast chicken.


	4. June: The Offer

**The Offer**

**June**

After dinner, my mood plummeted so low that it couldn't have possibly gotten any lower; I decided that the best way to remedy how I felt was to torture myself with some more Math. Lo and behold, as soon as I realized that there were only another two questions to go, it vastly improved my outlook, even though the knowledge of this hardly made the Math more fun.

"…why would I care how many bloody outfits Anne can create … Do what everyone else does and improvise!" I moaned, scratching the tip of my nose and clicking my mechanical pencil for more lead.

That feeling, deep in the pit of my stomach resurfaced, the one that told me I wasn't alone again, but this time, it was rawer, more tangible. It felt as though it was physically looming over me, and that if I looked, I would see it. For months this feeling had been gnawing at me during my conscious hours, providing strange dreams in sleep and now it was growing tiresome. Sighing, I shrugged it off, going on to the next Math problem that lay ahead.

"Hello, June."

It was a male voice that spoke then, soft as silk but dark and chillingly cool, which caused me to break the led of my pencil on the number I was writing. Hesitantly, I raised my eyes from my notebook, to a tall shape, obscured a cowl and cloak, physically standing in my room, by my closet. I instantaneously jumped up against my wall, dropping my pencil, and causing my homework to fly from my lap.

"Oh my God!"

"How flattering, but no." The shape said dryly and folded his arms beneath the heavy, dark material of his immensely long cape, which surrounded him with its length, making him resemble a black, marble mountain.

Frantically I looked around the room for something I could use to defend myself, and instinctively grabbed the first thing I saw – the brass candlestick – the one I could see from the corner of my eye, as it sat with a fresh, unused candle, on my nightstand from the night before. I quickly reached for it, and in my haste, I merely took hold of the candle part and the brass piece fell onto the floor, rolling away.

If I hadn't been so utterly beside myself with sheer panic, the situation would have proven to be comedic.

In desperation, I waved the unused candle about in front of me, warning it to stay back or I would-

"You will what, my dear? I would very much like to know, please humour me?" He stated wryly.

A part of me realized that the cloak reminded me of another… of the one in my fancies… it couldn't have been, could it?

As if in response to my mental inquiry, he swiftly pulled back his cowl to reveal the most beautiful human specimen I had ever seen. His almond-shaped dark eyes watched me as I took in the sight of his dominant cheekbones, his Greek God-like nose, and long, straight, jet-black hair, its sheen locks gathering thickly about his neck and onto broad shoulders. On his faultless lips, was a wry smile befitting his tone.

His features could not have been more perfect than if they had been created by the hand of an artist, combining the most beautiful parts ever seen, onto a canvas or into a sculpture. I was astounded at how well his hair suited him, and how wrong I was to ever to assume that long hair made a man less masculine. There was something about him that rendered me breathless for a moment, and he must have noticed because now, one side of his lips curled upward, as though he had heard me thinking.

When I could not tear my eyes away from this sight, his perfect lips formed a soft, subtle smile. It was from the intensity of something in those eyes, that urged me to avert my own, and I numbly glanced back at the candle I was gripping anxiously, subconsciously having scratched at the wax which was now building up under my nails.

My eyes went to the door, and I only assumed he didn't react, simply because he hadn't noticed. Making no movement, he calmly watched as I inched my way toward the exit and with a triumphant gasp, suddenly yanked the door open. He continued to stare coolly with his arms crossed, as I was about to take leave of my room, to evidently scream for help. Not seeming to care, he continued to simply glare at me as though we had just been discussing the weather.

Before he could speak (or at least I assumed he would have), I timidly spoke again; without take a single breath.

"What do you want from me?"

With an extraordinarily elegant movement, his hand rose along with a wing of his dark cloak, two fingers hovering to point at me, and my voice squeaked in my throat as I caught a flash of glowing red in his ebony eyes.

"Ah, but it is _you_ who want something from _me_."

Perhaps it was shock that set in, but I found that when I intended on speaking, there seemed to be a lack of connection between my brain and my mouth. When I glanced into his eyes again, something pulled me, beckoning me to him, and I willingly obeyed, moving to stand directly in front of him. We stood in unbearably silence, and he his eyes locked with my own, as though holding me captive.

"I know there is something you deeply yearn for. I can see through your heart and into your soul, that you seek something so far, so out of reach. What if I told you, I have the power to put it into you hands, June?"

The smooth way in which he said my name stirred something within me, and I swallowed it down. As I leaned on the door, it closed again, and with my back pressed up against it, I pondered that perhaps I would lose nothing by considering what he had to say.


	5. Julian: Proof

**A/N: Okay so I'm somewhat disappointed in the reviews section. I won't be updating beyond this point unless I get more reviews. ****Blackmail, shmackmail, I don't care what it's called, I want reviews!!! I need feedback people!!****

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****Proof**

**Julian**

Her wide, bright hazel eyes glared at me in shocked incredulity, "What do you mean?"

Either she was playing at being excessively dim or simply did not believe me. Assuming without a doubt that it was the latter, I realized that my offer to her would be far too scrutinized and she would realize the enormity of the price. Even if at this point, whatever it was that I wanted to get from her in return, was not decided as of yet.

"I heard your wish." Was my only reply.

When she said nothing to that, I eyed her thoughtfully in silence for a moment; I was considering whether I should have approached this differently. She must have noticed my glare on her intensifying, and she frowned, her usually delicate, carefree features furrowing.

"Are you… Satan?"

It was an instantaneous reflex on my part to release a great chuckle to this unoriginal question.

"No." I said finally after recomposing myself.

"Then why-?"

"Does this offer interest you, or not?"

My curtness silenced her. I found it encouraging that she didn't say no, but merely became deeply pensive. I could hear her thoughts as she was thoroughly considering my offer.

"What is the catch?" She asked quietly, eyeing me suspiciously.

"The catch?" This time I was playing at being dim-witted. Perhaps it would throw her off to ask further…

"The cost…whatever it is you want in return." …perhaps not.

"I will not reveal that."

"You won't reveal it?" She echoed incredulously and her forehead furrowed again, "That's ridiculous! How can I even consider without knowing?"

I felt my eyes flash crimson as I glanced up at her and she blinked in dismay. No, I would not say why, because if I had, _so I could use you as my plaything_, it would not have aided my argument.

Perhaps it _was_ ridiculous, but who was _she_ to question me about that? Why was I not becoming angry with her for her impudence? Why did I have a deep-urged desperation to convince her that she had to accept my offer when I didn't even know what I would be taking from her? Couldn't I just take it by force once I realized what it would be? I was not a weakling of a human that would be pushed back from a challenge, especially when it came to getting what I wanted, whatever it would be. And just before I did, why not grant her just a bit of happiness? Of course that was assuming it wouldn't flatter her that a Being such as myself would take interest in her in any shape or form.

With slow, deliberate steps, I circled her unsure frame, eyeing her intermittently.

"Take it or leave it; it's all or nothing." Out of bluff, I said in a simple, cool tone, biting my tongue before I would have added _my dear_ subconsciously.

To the chill in my tone and the harsh meaning behind my words, her head snapped up to look straight at me, with helpless, bewildered eyes and her soft-pink lips parted, though she said nothing to that. I moved considerably close to stand directly behind her and found myself wondering what that scent was. Was she wearing perfume? It was absurdly intoxicating.

Leaning over her shoulder and close to her ear, I hissed, "Imagine it, no more yearning, hurting, longing, wishing, because he would be right in front of you. You would see him, flesh and blood; hear his voice, his breathing, smell his cologne…"

When I saw a dreamy smile creep onto her lips, and felt her heart melting, I was torn between triumph and annoyance. And when her breathing became ragged, I swallowed an emotion that I would only recognize as impatience. In a sort of fascination, I watched the effect of my words on her, taking immense pleasure in my power over her, and ignored the bitterness of which I did not know the source.

Her head shifted closer to mine, perhaps to listen to my words more intently. The tempting way in which the light and shadow played on her mortal lips, I wondered what it would be like to kiss them. To that strange, fleeting thought I stepped away from her abruptly in an effort to clear my head. That _thought_ was ridiculous.

"Obviously you're a being of…great power. How can I trust that whatever I will experience will be real and not your creation or that of my brain?"

Smart question, I mentally commended her.

"You would like proof?"

Again her lips parted, but now I sensed that she was amazed by the prospect of what this all meant. Then, hesitantly, she slowly nodded. Composing herself, I could feel that she was attempting to find courage for whatever it was I would show her.

Stretching out my arm, I reached into the fabric of time in front of me, forcing my hand beyond the invisible, heavy wrinkled curtains that hung all about us. My arm sank into the void beyond, all the way above my elbow until I located my target. It was a challenge to find the correct person, but once I did, I grabbed hold, and pulled back. Unlike most, to my amusement, he struggled relentlessly, but gave in when I brought him all the way through.

The figure that stood beside me now – was just as tall as I – looked around the room in observant alarm. He immediately backed up a couple of steps away from me, switching his stance, ready to pounce. Breathing rather harshly, he wrapped himself in his heavy, lengthy velvet cape, and redundantly covered his masked face as much as he could with a cloaked arm.

Before us was the legendary _Phantom of the Opera_.

This strange, masked man had the power to enthrall... I almost laughed.

June took a tentative step toward Le Fantôme, her eyes soft and welling up with tears. When I saw this, something pulled me to side-step in front of her, raing a finger reproachfully.

"Erik…" I heard June whisper longingly, apparently loud enough for our guest to hear, I noted over my shoulder. The Phantom flinched, quickly turning his attention to the human girl, observing her.

Uninterested in reading his mind, I could barely imagine what he must have been thinking, if even able to understand what was happening. Perhaps he would think it was all a strange dream…but that was really none of my concern.

From the gasp that came from June, I knew I had succeeded in convincing her.


	6. June: Terms and Conditions

**Terms and Conditions**

**June**

The Being glared at me intensely, while _The Phantom of the Opera_ observed me in what appeared to be dazed fascination. Perhaps Erik thought that he was dreaming, because even though his hat was missing, he seemed as though he no longer felt that he was in danger, standing there, motionless and as still as a statue.

There were so many things I was yearning to say to him, but there were also too many things that made the situation more than awkward. My first instinct had been to put my arms around him, but clearly the Being would not allow it…

"So, how have you decided?"

_Erik…living, breathing, and he was in the same room with me!_

That thought made my heart race, and I could feel my cheeks burning, no doubt deepening in shade while I desperately hoped that neither one of them had noticed. To distract everyone (including myself) from the circumstances I quickly turned to the Being but my voice shook badly. "If you're not the Devil…then…who or…what…are you?"

Releasing a slow, throaty chuckle, he replied darkly, introducing himself with smooth words, as he bowed his head but only a little, for it was without removing his twinkling eyes from my own.

Just as I was making sense of the fact that he had a name like anyone walking down the street, he continued, "As for _what_ I am, to the Universe and its playground I am known as a Sorcerer."

_A Sorcerer…it made sense…_

"So I _wasn't_ going crazy…" The wave of embarrassment that swept over me turned into one of fury, when I remembered the things he had more than likely witnessed, which weren't just limited to my not-so-proud moments, I realized indignantly, but in fact included my deepest, innermost thoughts and feelings.

All of my fears were pushed aside by the fact that I suddenly felt that I had been tremendously violated and I demanded to know how much of my thoughts he had listened to.

"Enough to know what you want." He stated cryptically, which I knew meant _everything._

Was this anything like how Christine felt when she discovered the truth about Erik lurking in the shadows and stalking her? It seemed incomparable because of the fact that Erik's motivation was out of love, unlike…Julian, for which it was something dark and sinister…

Another thing occurred to me then, and I had to know for sure…

"Do you have anything to do with Elisa's condition?"

The Being looked away, pretending that he was making an attempt to hide a smile.

"You are! So she's not crazy! What did you do to her? Why-"

Moving to stand directly in front of me, this gesture interrupted me as he no doubt intended, while throwing me a severe crimson-tinged gaze which for a moment, lowered to my lips, "Yes or no?"

I swallowed loudly as my stomach did a summersault from the intensity of his glare.

"If you're not after my soul… what do you want?"

His only response was a leisurely shaking of his head. Then, when I thought he wouldn't say anything further, he whispered after taking a deep breath, "I will offer you the Terms and Conditions of my proposition, _limited_ to certain details, of course, _if_ you are indeed interested."

Turning to look at Erik, I was pleasantly surprised to notice that his attention was fixated on me. Those glittering, dark eyes had then become my undoing, for I found myself nodding distractedly. We stared deeply at one another, as I half listened to the Sorcerer's details.

"You will have four months in that world, to do with as you please. Once the time runs out, I will come to collect payment;

"You will live as one of them, stay within the walls of the Paris Opéra when you are told, and work with what I will give you; you will never overstep what is your allotment, nor will you attempt to drastically alter the events beyond your desires; you will freely interact with everyone, though you will not reveal who you are, or where you are from; you will not disclose information attained by your predicament, which includes your purpose or your knowledge of people, places or events…"

I couldn't help it, but I tuned out after I realized it all sounded like a legal contract. Only one part of it remained in my thoughts, and it echoed there, when he had finally finished.

"Under what conditions do you not come to collect payment?" I said, not removing my eyes from Erik.

In response, he leaned over whispering still, but this time with amused sarcasm, "If he should fall madly, desperately in love with you and asks you to marry him with fervent kisses."

To that comment I felt a combination of excitement from the challenge and my heart writhing at the prospect of Erik's rejection. And not just from the pain of his refusal, but what fate it was that awaited me beyond such an outcome?

I turned around to hide any evidence of the hurt the meaning behind his words caused and turned my head by toward the Opera Ghost who had now moved on to inspect his strange surroundings.

"Will he remember any of this?" I asked, sounding more hopeful than I had intended.

"I would highly doubt it, June." The Sorcerer answered rather menacingly, which meant he would make sure of it.

Of course not, that would give me an unfair advantage, wouldn't it? And God forbid anyone should have the upper hand but him? He knew all too well what to offer and I had taken the bait.

Yet I had no regrets…Yet. I supposed that in time I could end up regretting it, but it seemed so far way, and a part of me refused to be anything other than optimistic.

Already, I was imagining being there, breathing the air, and walking the streets of Paris in a gown of my fancies, and that was just the start! I would be in that beautiful building, and will have the chance to be in the company of a most beautiful person…

And something dawned on me.

"There is still the issue with the language..."

Before I could turn to face Julian, I felt a soft caress across my jaw line, and heard his voice in my mind, "There _is_ no issue." And a second later, a slipped into unconsciousness.


	7. June: A Slight Side Effect

**A/N: Thank you for all those who reviewed. I appreciate your positive comments and hope I will get constructive criticism too. Also, apologies for not having Erik in this chapter but he's coming, don't worry.**

**NOTE: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera.**

**FYI: The Phantom characters in my story are Leroux-based... any gaps may be filled in from Kay version, though I will see.**** Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy...

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**A Slight Side-Effect**

**June**

I awoke to a disorienting pain that shot through my head with such ferocious intensity that it knocked me out of my bed and onto the floor. For what felt like no less than an hour, I lay there screaming, curled up in a ball, mentally using any and all swear words normally not in my vocabulary.

"Such un-lady-like words, June." Through the clouding ache of my skull, I comprehended the dry words and recognized the arrogant host. His comment called for one of my death glares but attempting anything in this state was futile.

From the fact that I was always left without words in his company, regardless of the reason, made me yell even louder in frustration. It appeared to be the only thing I could do because it seemed that the part of my brain responsible for coherent speech was rendered incapable of proper function from the immense pounding.

As the pain began to dissipate, I was actually able to verbally form a sentence, even if slowly, "What…is…this?"

There was a pause and I heard him sigh, "I thought I had mentioned this; it is a slight side-effect from being out of your time."

_Yes, you probably did, but I was too busy drooling over Erik to hear you. As for it being slight-_

Two hands pulled me easily to my feet, and even though my vision was blurred, I still noticed how reluctant he was to let me lean on him for support as he guided me back toward the bed with his hand around my arm.

I wondered then, how he had worded the 'slight side-effect' part of the arrangement…

_You will have a pain so mind-splitting that you will want to rip off your own head…_

"How often will the pain come?"

"After you sleep at night." He replied distantly.

"I will feel…this…every morning?"

As my sight cleared and came into focus, our eyes locked and he released me instantly as though I was scorching to the touch. Switching my balance, I wrapped my arms around a column of the canopy, my eyes trailing back to look at his face; his own were blankly looking at me.

"It will lessen day-by-day." He said, in a cool, matter-of-fact tone.

I sighed. Great, something to look forward to.

It somewhat reminded me of the consequences that came with the wish granted for The Little Mermaid. In fact, the entire arrangement was familiar, only because I knew the story. Maybe I would turn into sea-foam unless I killed Erik. I thought of it no further, unable to imagine not what it was like to be a form of lather, for I sure I was unable to harm him in any way.

Sharp rays of sunlight poured into the little room and my brain was still swirling with outlandish images, clouded by distant, fleeting memories of Erik. Wrapping a blanket about me, I glanced back at Julian, who was standing in the shadows, untouched by the sunlight. He stood there ominously inspecting me, and my stomach turned as I recalled more details of the previous night, involving our deal. Did I already have regrets?

"How do you like your room?"

As I looked around he told me that I was renting it from a family that was hardly ever home, and that during the day I worked at the Opéra. The Opéra!

The room was modestly decorated with fading colours, a tattered floral canopy bed, and a writing desk with a small stool bearing a blue cushion which was losing its dark blue dye. Still, I couldn't help but grin to myself. It appeared that he hadn't expected me to think that it was perfect.

"How did you sleep?" He smiled softly, speaking quite calmly in contrast to how I was feeling. When my mouth opened to answer, my brain refused to comply, and I sat there, once again feeling rather idiotic. I couldn't remember sleeping, much less _how _I had slept.

It was once he did an impressed once-over that pulled me from my pondering, to inspect what he was looking at. Someone had changed my clothes; I was wearing close to nothing but a fancy flannel nightgown, uncomfortably low cut for my preference, even if it suited the time-period. My first instinct was to cover myself with my arms, even if he had already seen me. I assumed it was him who had put the thing on me, and I bit my tongue from confronting him about it. Somehow, I knew I didn't want to have that conversation with him, suspecting the outcome wouldn't be pleasant for me.

"It suits you." Was all he said with far too much amusement, no doubt reading something in my mind.

In turn, I noticed he was wearing a dark green velvet cloak that revealed nothing but a bit of an off-white shirt with a slight and even collar. His long, sheen, jet-black hair was tied back loosely with a leather string and he stood with his arms folded beneath the cloak, smiling smugly at me.

Feeling stronger from his attitude, I went to a nearby window to peek outside. Horse-drawn carriages rolled in both directions just below, and in the distance, I could see a partial structure of the well-renowned Palais Garnier and the golden Apollo, holding up his lyre to the Heavens.

"I can't believe I'm here." I mumbled to myself, grinning widely as a kid in candy store who had been handed a shopping spree. Then, all too soon, it left my face, and my heart felt heavy in my chest, ready to fall to my heels. "What exactly will happen to me if I don't earn The Phantom's affections?"

He approached and stood beside me, observing the events beyond the window thoughtfully. At first I was sure he wouldn't give an answer, but then must have responded to my pleading eyes.

"You will find that out, when the time comes."

"Don't you mean 'when _and if?_" I corrected his words, though suspected they were intentional. When he stared at me unfalteringly, something occurred to me.

For some strange reason, he was expecting me to fail. What could I have that would possibly make this little game worthwhile for him?


	8. Julian: Settling In

**Settling In**

**Julian**

After showing June the armoire full of gowns and other such garments befitting her new world, I told her about the money in the writing desk drawer, and that she had already prepaid rent three months in advance.

_The first and last three months of ever having to pay rent,_ I read her bitter thoughts as I felt the pessimistic wave wash over her. For some reason, I stopped myself from reassuring her as I heard her long, but sweet sigh and watched her elegantly move to stand in front of the closet.

Reluctantly, I admired the way her features shifted into a gleeful smile upon opening the wardrobe and inquisitively gazed at her as she held a gown up in front of her, to look at herself in the built-in mirror. Without thinking, I drank in the sight of her dark, warm, honey coloured hair, escaping from a clip; stray locks of it hanging in front of her face in haphazard prettiness. Peeking rays of sun that spilt from behind her through the curtains appeared to set them afire. With a silent curse of frustration, I reminded myself that it was useless to think of a mere human is such a way.

Unsure of how long I had been staring at her before she took notice, I quickly switched my attention to the sky beyond her window. At a distance, dark and heavy clouds were moving quickly to cover the velvet blue, threatening to bring snow; I would have to create some winter clothes for her sooner than I had thought.

"You should have all the clothes that you need for now." I didn't have to read her mind to know what she was thinking at that point, amused by her wrinkled nose and the slightly troubled look in her soft, hazel eyes. "Anything you put back into the armoire will clean itself, so you won't have to waste any time with laundering."

A mixture of relief and curiosity flashed in her eyes as the dress in her hands folded when she crossed her arms and glanced at me questioningly, "Why would that matter to you?"

My eyes traced her gentle face, and I caught myself admiring the smirk forming on her lips.

"I'm trying to be fair." I said simply, in a tone that sounded unintentionally like a warning. After eyeing me suspiciously for a moment, she turned back to study her reflection and my eyes caught hers in the mirror. An uncomfortably long silence settled between us before she looked away self-consciously, swallowing with difficulty. Had she seen something there?

Clearing her throat, she shrugged it off, her graceful shoulders moving slightly before sighing again. "When do I start work?"

"Not for another two hours." I said coldly; purposely avoiding the sight of her, most of all her eyes.

From the corner of my eyes I saw her quietly approach the window, as if to make sure it was still there. She felt as though she was dreaming…

Good, she hadn't asked about her job. At this point I wasn't sure it would have felt good telling her the truth. I was hoping without realizing it, that she wouldn't be too disappointed. No, I would not say a word; she would soon discover it for herself anyhow, I thought, finding myself imagining the fire in her eyes when she was angry and how alive I felt from the sight.

"I shall leave you to change." I stated calmly, and pulled myself beyond the fabrics of time and space that separated her world from the one with my home, feeling out of sorts to say the least. All I knew at that point was that I desperately needed to escape from her.

My mind had gone numb and my body ached from indescribable emotions. Wildly, my heart was pounding in my chest with such force that I couldn't even think straight. What was it about her that was causing me such insanity?

It was beyond ridiculous how preoccupied I was becoming; just like one of those foolish humans I would choose for entertainment. It bothered me to no end that her warm smile was etched in my mind, even though one had never been directed at me. Was I yearning for something so preposterous? How and when had I become this uselessly infatuated creature?

Numerously, I was tempted to see what she was up to for the next hour, but I occupied myself with studying my spells, though not without throwing my unused mirror enticed glances. Lasting only another few minutes, I went to the glass, ran my hand across it, and brought the image of June into focus.

Feeling a blanket of perpetual bliss when I located her, I could see that she had successfully dressed in appropriate attire, blending in effortlessly with the rest of the pedestrians. Addicted to the sight of her, I watched as she made her way to Le Palais, and forced myself to stop smiling with her when she laid eyes on the great hall just ahead. I could feel her elation, and I swam in it, convinced that I was merely looking forward to seeing her impending displeasure.

Upon her entering through the side gates, I realized we hadn't discussed where she was supposed to go, and watched her improvise with fascination as she went about the place as though it hadn't been her first visit. Glancing intently at each dressing room door that she passed, she appeared to be searching for someone or something. Grinning openly in amusement at her confused thoughts, I tried to ignore the guilt which was sneaking into my chest, managing to push it back down and out of existence. Releasing a dark chuckle, I realized – had she actually thought I would make her a performer?

I watched as an older woman passing in the hallway interrupted her, addressing her by name. They conversed a bit before it all dawned on my little June, and I felt her evident disappointment turn into immense, helpless anger. Somehow, I wanted to make sure she was as far away from the spotlight as possible, and it was icing on the cake, as humans say, when I saw her face, because I knew that my solution had been perfectly picked.


	9. June: At the Opéra

**A/N: I hope you enjoy...**

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**At the Opéra**

**June**

From the instinctive fear of one Dark Sorcerer's twisted sense of humour, I caught myself from wondering whether it could possibly get worse. Of course it could; under these circumstances, it was possible for anything to happen. And there was no doubt in my mind that he was relishing my disappointment, as I could feel his prying eyes on me while I stood feebly before my fate.

Why had I assumed more? Why did I think he would hand me recognition on a silver tray when not only would it not have worked for _him_, but I realized, I couldn't sing or dance worth recognition. Okay, I _could_ sing, but it was hardly at the standard of a solo performer. Dancing was a different matter altogether, meaning, it was like me trying to do a Finite problem in my head – fruitless. As powerful as Julian may have been, nothing could make me dance well enough to be one of the "rats" but then why could Julian not have made me a Chorus member? Ah, but what else could I have become, limited by my gender and inexperience?

The fact was that the Palais Garnier had eighty-eight dressing rooms requiring tending-to, and this was done on a rotation-basis by nine people; I was now the tenth. My job included cleaning, arranging, and ensuring the divas and dancers were happy; the Prima Donna and Ballerina were to respectively receive eleven freshly cut roses daily; ten or twelve even would be bad luck. For days and weeks to come, at the start of each shift, Mme. Remais would be directing me on my way.

As I mustered the strength to set to my task, I heard a familiar voice in my mind, _Just be grateful it's not your job to launder the costumes._ Even mentally he could be sardonic.

I mock-laughed aloud, as I twisted the excess water from the mop with my hands, trying to ignore the repugnance of having to touch the smelly, ratty end, yet allowed the disgust to show on my face.

_God forbid I should waste my time doing such a thing!_ I shot back at him mentally but heard nothing in reply.

I didn't know how, but I would somehow get him back for this. He may have been a powerful sorcerer, but the universe still had laws, and I fully believed in the cliché saying that things tended to balance themselves out. It made me smile to think that somewhere, five cellars below, Erik lurked, and at one point or another would breathe the same air as I. Perhaps he was in his box, or running an errand, but the reality remained that he was existent, and was, in fact, here. And even if I was a simple cleaning-maid, I was still free to go about the building and poke around as I did my chores.

The highlight of my day was when I came to a most generously decorated room, with peach hues and shades of pink. No, I wasn't fond of these colours; in fact they were a horrendous combination of over-the-top elegance. Rather, it was the name on the door, engraved in elegant cursive, on a thin, wooden plaque that that made me grin, the sight of which seemed to lessen the hint of regret this whole escapade was waking in me: _Carlota Gutierrez._

_La_ Carlotta?

It was a very messy room with costumes and other garments on the floor; some slung over chairs as well as on other furniture; also there were glasses of water abandoned sporadically on various surfaces. I nearly knocked one over, but saw it in time, hidden beneath the divan beside a box of half-eaten chocolates. Giving the bonbons a sniff, I couldn't determine how long they had been there so I resisted trying one…

Unable to fight the temptation to snoop a bit, I opened a few drawers to peek inside. One drawer had The Holy Bible, another contained a pair of ugly pastel-purple gloves with pearls, and the bottom one of her vanity had a collection of fans. In her closet, were five pair of shoes, all satin, most of them light blue. In the make-up compartment of her elegant vanity, there was another box of chocolates, the kind with liquored cherries, but to my disappointment it was unopened. The unusually annoying thing was that I couldn't find a single personal item that could and would confirm it was really her.

At lunch I sat downstage by myself, munching on some apples, cheese and bread that I had picked up at a Boulangerie on Rue Scribe. As I felt the camembert cheese melting in my mouth, I gaped at the empty house of gold-glazed boxes and soft seats with their plush maroon splendour. The hall was so massive and beautiful – this was what Christine saw when her voice would float up to Box Five's shadowy occupant. It really was too bad I would not sing.

It was something that hit me then that caused a distraction and made me bite my tongue – I realized that I hadn't seen Christine's name anywhere. Then I reasoned that perhaps I hadn't cleaned a little corner which contained her little dressing-room, all by itself.

On my very first day, I managed to tidy up three dressing-rooms fueled by the inner delight from just being able to breathe the air of L'Opéra. By the end of it all, I had grown very sick of my gown, yearning for pants, and my feet ached so badly from the damned heels that I was caught up in day-dreams of being able to put them up.

The sun was descending behind the city's landscape silhouette when I inspected the sky as I left the Palace. Every step made me grit my teeth and was ready to tear the dress and shoes off. Bundled up to the extreme, my yelps at every step were muffled by the thick cloak Julian had conjured up for me.

_Oh that being!_

Darkness greeted me when I entered the house, and I looked up to see a shape eclipsing the soft light spilling from my room. As I headed up the stairs, he was on the landing, blocking my path, smirking smugly as usual.

"Did you have a good day at work?" He asked lightly, his self-righteous smile almost broadening with pleasure. His words sounded as though he too had just arrived home, and was ready to share his hard and laborious day's events with me.

Silently, I simply blinked at him while flashing him one of my darkest glares, just faintly visible from the lack of light. If he couldn't see it, I was sure he could feel it.


	10. Julian: Bothered

**Bothered**

**Julian**

Wordlessly, a fuming June went about her evening routine as best as she could, despite the challenges she faced from lack of certain toiletries. Something foreign tempted me to peek at certain times, though I thought it inappropriate not to allow her privacy. Even with the knowledge that I could get away with it, I was not encourage to invade her desired solitude… When had I become polite?

Perhaps I was simply too caught up in wondering why it would interest me and whether or not her fury would please me. Even though I was quite sure that my mischief would have been satisfying, and that I could no longer deny an underlying current of pleasure from seeing that fire in her golden eyes, I found myself to be considerate.

Not completely hidden in shadow, I watched what was visible from my angle. Tresses of her hair fell like honey-velvet as she undid her hair clasp, and dutifully brushed out the tangles that had crept into her locks from her day of hard work. Half listening to her grumbling thoughts, I observed in silent awe how such a simple thing as hair could be so beautiful. Mentally, she was complaining about how her entire body ached and I could feel how much she was looking forward to "snuggling up" in the comforts of her dream-world.

As I considered whether or not to make June's discomfort diminish, she reappeared from the bathroom, fully prepared for bed; dressed in the nightgown and robe I had created to fit her frame perfectly. The human girl passed as I admired my handiwork, and she did a mock-stretch, blatantly overlooking my presence.

Ah, I was being ignored; never in my centuries of being had I experienced such a thing. Since it was a mere human, it should have made me irate, but what irked me was that I could not understand why her deliberate lack of acknowledgement was having such an affect on me.

Observing her as she headed toward her bed, I realized that it had been a long time since I had gone through a single day without seeing her. It was just an obsession of watching a human do tricks, but then why did I yearn to interact with her? Was this the sort of addicted that humans were all too familiar with? What was happening to me? Why was I so intent on gaining her attention? Why was I immensely bothered by not hearing her speak to me?

At this point, I did feel annoyance but as these thoughts were spinning in my mind, out of impulse, something urged me to stand in her way, knowing I would see those captivating hazel eyes flash up at me. As I had anticipated, she glared darkly at me with irritation, causing me to a smile softly while sending my heart into a wild race. When I wouldn't allow her to pass, she huffed crossly, and attempted to approach from the other side. To her furious dismay, I had playfully re-shifted to block her path once again.

"_What_ is your problem?" She screeched without looking up at me this time, her crimson cheeks flushing even deeper, and she pursing her pink lips while clenching her little fists in irritation.

My smiling lips formed no words, but I ensured that she would hear me in her mind, _"It appears that _you_ are the one with the problem."_

Rewarded by another dark glare, I was tempted to taunt her on now after having seen the delightfully feisty side of her, once again pleasantly studying how well the nineteenth century clothes suited her. Before I could catch myself, I wondered then whether it would be the same with my own world's style of dress. Not only did I then see the soft line of her jaw tense up from gritting her teeth, but I could feel her annoyance intensifying with each passing second. How it amused me to see that lively spark in her eyes!

"You are _such a child_, you know!"

Oh yes, I knew. Of course I was – I had warned her about that, had I not?

"And you take yourself far too seriously, my dear." I said softly, smiling at her in the same manner. With those words, I instinctively reached up to lay a seemingly soothing touch onto her cheek, but she jerked her head away, leaving my fingers with nothing but the air in front of her. Even though it was supposed to have been a condescending gesture, I still felt a pang of rejection. Quickly pushing it out of mind, I was able to shrug it off.

We stood this way for a moment, and to my amusement, she helplessly crossed her arms and glowered at me, before she exploded.

"Does my misery entertain you?"

"Actually-" I used a tone as though I was now just considering it and she turned a deep red.

When her shock wore off she shoved her face hazardously close to my own and yelled, "You- you- you are a self-righteous, pompous…arrogant, puerile…immature, infuriatingly…irritating Being!"

Something within me was stirring; though I wasn't sure what it was…Had it been from the supposed insults she was flinging at me, or her nearness that set me off?

"_Be careful, my dear, you are playing with fire."_ Even though I smiled outwardly, the mental admonition I directed at her contained the dark tone I intended.

Her glare intensified with anger, and she straightened, pulling back slightly. Either she chose not to hear me or pretended she had not, much too caught up in her tirade; apparently my little blocking game had opened a flood of frustration.

"This whole thing is just for your own, sick, selfish amusement! I should have guessed; you just want a toy! Well, I refuse to be your toy! You have no right – I don't belong to you!"

_Not yet._

"_Be Careful, June."_

"Why did I even _think_ you would be fair about this? You don't even want me to have chance, do you? That's the only way this is worth it for you! You're a selfish being and you don't care about anyone but yourself!"

"_June, I think it would be best to heed my warnings before it's too late."_ June failed to acknowledge the warning step I then took toward her or that we were standing close enough to touch; instead she carried on, blinded by fury.

"You think? You _think_? I don't give a…rat's _ass_ what you think…!"

It was the first time I heard June swear aloud, but I kept my dismay from showing. It was out of mere curiosity that I watched her continue.

"…This is a sick, twisted game-"

"_A game that you willingly chose to play."_ I reminded her.

"Well…now I demand that you to leave me alone! I don't _need_ your interference! Stop visiting me!" When she topped her angry rant by poking me in the chest with her small index finger, it hit a dangerous nerve.


	11. Julian: Not Just a Toy

**A/N: Okay, so in reality, I had meant for this chapter to be a part of the previous one but it got too long. Even by itself it's lengthier than the previous ones, but the content called for it... Oh, and a bunch of characters from the book are coming next chapter ... For those waiting for Erik, he is FOR SURE coming in the chapter after the next.**

**Anyway, hope you enjoy and be kind enough to leave me feedback.**

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**Not Just a Toy**

**Julian**

"You _demand_?" I echoed mockingly in disbelief.

I should have been amused at this, but I couldn't stop a dark wrath that was welling up inside of me.

"Yes, _demand_! Why should I _stand by_ and let you play with my fate?"

"If I were you, my dear," I hissed, "I would reconsider what tone you are using – perhaps you have forgotten what I'm capable of."

"I'm not frightened of you-!"

"Perhaps you _should_ be." My anger caused my eyes to flash red at her but she merely blinked.

Why was I so angry at this puny human's insults? I should have been laughing at her stupidity and least of all, not allow her to see that she was capable of provoking me. How ridiculous was it that this lowly creature had this effect on me!

"I'm not just a toy, you- you…inflated peacock-!"

"You have _no _idea _what_ I am." I warned in a sharp whisper, but I could see in her cool eyes that this hinted admonition went unheeded, as the others before.

"You wouldn't kill your entertainment!" She whispered edgily, narrowing her intense glance.

No, she was right – which made me even angrier; that she saw me as powerless to fight back. Out of impulse, my hand darted up to her face, but it was not to strike her. Abruptly, two of my fingers found their way onto her cool lips, instantly silencing her, and I pressed her against the armoire with my weight, bringing my face threateningly close to hers.

"Indeed you are right – but there are plenty of other things at my disposal, and I will not warn you again."

She was looking up at me with large, frightened eyes, and what I read in them both pleased and enraged me – she had indeed feared me now, but not because of my omnipotence, but rather, because I was male. As cruel as I had ever been to any human, I had never done such a thing as she feared to anyone. In reality, in was because humans were of no interest with their pathetic inferiority, and sorceresses, well, they were equals.

So why had it crossed my mind now? Had I suddenly considered June to be different than a mere human? Even I didn't know what I would do, if she were able to anger me this way again…The one thing I did know, was that I would never harm her…

…After all, as she mentioned, why would I _damage_ my only source of entertainment?

Slowly, I stepped away, savoring her panicked breaths against my skin, and smiled down at her in obvious satisfaction, drinking in the sight of her trembling vulnerability. Indeed the dress of this age suited her. She reminded me of a helpless princess, and I was the evil sorcerer. Now, why had that thought made me smirk?

Over the ages, I had come across many princesses, with far less grace and dignity – begging for mercy and their freedom…not once did June beg in her fright… A trembling human was pathetic, yet… Unexpectedly, I realized an insane urge to possess her like a rare jewel, but not to lock her away in my grimy dungeons.

Melting from visibility, but remaining in the room, I observed her. Of course, it was merely to enjoy the triumph of power over her. It had nothing to do with how my eyes could not stop tracing the curve of her neck or the soft outline of her mortal profile. If only she had not been mortal – then I wouldn't feel as though these observations were an utter waste of time!

A long moment after she saw that I had vanished, she still stood leaning against her wardrobe, as though not quite having absorbed the recent events. It was in an effort to calm herself, no doubt, that she closed her eyes and slid slowly down on the surface of the dark, polished wood. I could sense her trembling, and couldn't decide whether it satisfied or concerned me. Then, after a moment, she appeared to have mustered the strength to get up finish her routine that I had interrupted.

As she cupped a small hand around the flame of the candle to blow it out, I noticed that it shook, as did her entire body before she was able to relax into her bed beneath the covers. I knew that it was only partially due to our confrontation, in other part being from having to wash herself in chillingly frigid water. Was this something I wanted to help her with? Perhaps…I would think about it.

In my state of invisibility, I went to stand by the bed, next to her curled-up shape. Craning my neck, I looked down at her and become conscious of my incapability to tear myself away from the sight. This was dangerous territory; I realized when my heart skipped a beat as I examined her now peaceful features.

Unable to resist peeking into the depths of her mind while she slept, I crept inside, only to find her wandering about her Opera House. Dressed in an elaborate gown, her dream self wore a huge smile, as she made her way backstage and into a dressing room. When I followed her inside, I noticed her name on its door.

_June Tresor_

It was rather ironic that her last name meant 'treasure' in the humans' realm of a language they call French. I recalled comparing her to a rare jewel… perhaps that depiction suited her more than I had realized? My own last name was nothing more than reflective of the place I resided. Julian of Joss… Sorcerers didn't have 'last names'…My mind wandered along with her, and I listened to something daring to linger there, echoing:

_June of Joss_

I smiled softly for a brief moment as something in my chest leapt into my throat and I commanded it to draw back.

Inside of the room, gas-jet lamps were already lit and someone had also taken the time to light a multitude of candles at the other end of the small room, situated on a dresser by a full-length mirror that took up most of the opposite wall. June was behaving as though the situation was familiar, and she was giddily exploring the room which had obviously been created by her wishful fancies.

I watched her from one corner, as she examined the gracefully burning candles on her dresser. As she was about to move away, we both caught sight of a shadow moving toward her, which turned into a man who blocked her way when she turned to face him.

It was instant recognition on both our parts – though I was not as thrilled as June appeared to be, her face beaming with an almost delirious grin.

_Erik_, I whispered maliciously, over her sweet rendition of his name with a sing-song voice. Neither one of them took notice of me, but only because I had intended it that way. To take a closer look at her blissful expression, I moved quite nearby, watching as he reached out both arms, trapping her in front of him. When she jumped to embrace him, savoring the requited embrace, I felt my jaw tighten and forced myself to watch before acting on another mindless impulse.

With a swift step, I shifted inside of him, becoming one and the same. He was gone, and I was left holding June for a breathtaking, endless moment. When she turned her head up to look at me, I hungrily seized the opportunity in the guise and claimed her lips without hesitation. The mask fell aside in the same moment that all of the candles were mysteriously extinguished. We kissed fiercely, passionately for several moments, while I swam in the delight of her ecstatic heart.

I reasoned that it was a mere experiment, and that no harm could come of it, until I saw her sleeping face smiling too. It was pleasing for only a moment to see this effect; up until I realized that even though I felt her glorious lips, in her reality, it was really Erik kissing her.

That realization rendered me instantly capable of tearing myself away from her completely, and I was able to step out of her reality to the point of retreating back to my home. I cursed myself while staring out into the black void that was pitch-black night beyond my window. It was the same blackness I felt within and I kept failing at pushing it aside.

I sensed June's dream slip away, her mind moving into serene, restful oblivion; far from what I was feeling.

Hours slipped by in my misery as I blindly stared beyond my window, refusing to acknowledge the obvious emotion boiling within me. This was a familiar emotion, though I refused to accept why I was feeling it. What reason would have to be jealous?

Sunrise came, which was followed by a few empty hours before I felt a distressing uneasiness in my stomach. Instantly, I realized the cause when my mind jumped to June, and I could feel she was just waking up. When had this bond come into existence?

Before I was about to anxiously depart to be by her side, I reluctantly but quickly stopped myself, and strained to ignore her tortured, mental screams with enormous difficulty. After too long of a moment which left me shaking, I realized her pain was gone and I was relieved that I hadn't succumbed to my mysterious and irritating instinct.

The question was, how long could I avoid visiting her? Because I knew I had to.


	12. June: Thanks to the Opéra Ghost

**Thanks to The Opéra Ghost**

**June**

Even though I would wake up with a mind-numbing pain every day, I was, on all occasions, relieved that Julian was not there to "greet" me. Perhaps he had angered himself so much that he needed to take a _long_ break from me to cool off, which was greatly to my benefit. He was the last…Being…I wanted to see and now it seemed that my _preposterous_ demand had been unintentionally met. Maybe he was thinking the same thing?

Mornings were not a time to look forward to. I had never had a hangover, so generally speaking, I was a morning person. But now, apart from the painful awakenings, I dreaded my morning wash, a ritual that had my teeth chattering even after I was fully dressed. It was no wonder so many people of this time died from colds that got out of hand. Oh, the good old days…of boiling hot showers! I wondered when I could have one again.

Several days later, I was still having nightmares from our little spat, but I clung to that wonderful dream with Erik that I felt I had genuinely experienced, which was the only thing (along with the daydreams it spawned) that were propelling me through the haze of tedious chores that my job entailed. I could not care less about the usual, numerous rumors of the theatre busy-bodies, except perhaps when Erik was mentioned, but these little whispers only managed to draw forth my splendid reveries.

Each time I thought of that wonderful dream, my lips would tingle from the memory and I could put a little more exertion into my mopping while gleefully start to hum something, even if I was given strange looks from by-passers. Once it was the first few lines from Lloyd Webber's Phantom title song, and I only sang the first few phrases, catching myself before the song referenced Erik specifically, being in my mind. So true, but not at all appropriate.

All in all, I wasn't very popular with my team of workers. I hadn't bothered making any friends, because even in school, it was my nature; my cowardice of social situations made me into a recluse. But perhaps I just appreciated my solitude too much to give it up by having to entertain and at the same time, too lazy to put on a façade to please anyone. My mother even said that as a young child I would rather read to myself, even if I didn't yet know how to. I would snatch the book away from her, go into a separate room and shut the door behind me, not be heard from for hours.

Having just returned from my lunch, in the midst of munching on a particularly dry apple, I stopped in mid-chew when I could hear a couple of voices as I made my way back-stage. Following the sound of the light quarrel, I could make out that it was a man and a woman, but only when I peeked around the corridor did I see the hosts.

"…I am appalled and will not stand for this mockery!" Spat the young woman with jet black locks, the majority of her luxuriously thick, straight hair about her shoulders. Dressed in opulent elegance, she stood with her hands on her hips, intermittently raising a hand to waive her finger in the air, while clasping a piece of parchment with the other. The man she spoke to was dressed in formal clothes, a top hat gripped to his chest as though he was using it as a shield, held there with both of his gloved hands.

The more I listened, the more I could make out her Spanish accent and understand what the situation was all about. My comprehension peaked when she waved the parchment in the older man's face:

"…and you are telling me that this is procedure? That it is policy to send such notes? And sign them 'O.G.'? It is nothing but a farce!"

The man made no reference to the letter in her hand, but simply explained, quite calmly to my surprise, that indeed, it _was_ policy for lead sopranos to have understudies. In particular, he deemed it a smart idea that they should hold auditions for her own immediately.

No, I did not in that moment consider auditioning. Like I've said, singing that well wasn't my _forte;_ no pun intended there. But the situation was rather inspiring – who was to stop me from auditioning for Chorus? I could sing respectably enough…couldn't I?

"But Monsieur Poligny, I have never _needed_ an understudy! Why are you catering to a ghost's request? Who is this Opera ghost any how to be making any demands?"

The older man took in an uneasy breath, looking even older in that moment as he glanced around them fearfully before returning his gaze to the hysterical Spaniard. Once again, I grinned behind my hand.

"Mademoiselle Gutierrez, I cannot claim to know who this Opera ghost is, but I do agree that it would be disastrous for all of us if you should suddenly fall ill. I think it also wise that we follow your contract to the letter to not risk breaching it."

_Touché_

The woman became visibly speechless, her gaping mouth closing to that. Turning on her heels, her large, not so elegant gown bouncing about her, she went around a corner and without a doubt, the entire Opera House reverberated from her slamming door.

So La Carlotta was actually La Carlota. Poor woman, she still had to croak like a toad.

Monsieur Poligny was a manager, as I remembered correctly, and he would soon be retiring along with his "comrade" Monsieur Debienne. Amongst the many rumors, there was a lot of talk about their impending retirement, and their company was busy preparing for a gala to acknowledge this event. While preparing for this grand concert, the company was perfecting their current production of Gounod's _Faust_.

All too well, I knew which gala this was, and how in the book, Christine sings in it for the first time, only to be recognized by the Vicomte Raoul de Chagny.

But where was Christine? She should have been in the Chorus… which was in part the reason I was so anxious to become a member. As I was well aware, it was next to impossible to audition for Chorus in mid-season, but I was desperate to think of a way. I wasn't Erik, but it couldn't be impossible!

On this day, I was well aware that somewhere in the building, the Chorus was rehearsing. More specifically, they were in the Singers' Lounge. It should have occurred to me before that I could find Christine there, but perhaps I had been much too caught up in my frustrations with that irksome Being who had, a little while back, thankfully decided to "go on vacation". This new sense of freedom hit me, and there were too many ideas of things I wanted to do, all at once.


	13. Julian: From a Safe Distance

**A/N: Okay folks, here it is. Finally. It's a lot longer than I thought but...I had to have Erik in it...so...you better be grateful. :) Please review and let me know what you think. Sorry in advance for misleading some to believe I would be introducing a whole bunch of characters from the book - I planned it but... it just didn't go there...yet. It's still all coming...so bear with me AND REVIEW!**

**Also, I did go over this thing so many times my eyes are popping out but I may have missed some typos...sorry if there are any. Well, enjoy!**

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**From a Safe Distance**

**Julian**

For a while I paced about my gloomy bedchambers, the usually bearable, but now deafening silence forcing me outside. My feet felt like lead, though I noticed that all of my usually heightened senses were even more so, if possible. The grass seemed greener, more luxuriant; the sky, even though it suited my mood, was overcast with dark grayish-blue clouds, and was emanating a strong energy, in preparation of a heavy snow storm. Even the air smelled fresher, almost…sweeter as it softly swept my cloak, causing it to dance about me.

Stopping for a moment, I stood perplexed, and then laughed aloud at the absurdity of it all. Had I been away from my home for too long and hadn't considered the possibility of becoming homesick? I hadn't considered that…though it was an easier state to reflect on than any other.

With nothing more to occupy myself than sporadic walks about my grassy grounds like an imbecile, only a mere couple of days went by before I was in front my mirror, willing June's shape to appear before me in its glass. No longer in her distracting presence, I cautiously watched the creature from a safe distance as she went about her day (and had done so perfectly well for the past few days) without me. Had I expected something else? Had I simply imagined her need to depend upon me? Or…

_Dare I think…wished it?_

This was far from the game I had started and my growing obsession with this human was without a question, an unhealthy one. Not that my health was something to be especially worried about, but Beings of Sorcery were not immune to insanity.

Chaos of a powerful Being's mind had one of two causes; historically, there had been more than one incident involving both: Love and Greed. Ultimately, these states of mind if unfulfilled, would lead to the inevitable downfall from existence itself, but I would be smarter than to be taken hostage by either such primitive emotion. I had no reason for Greed. And Love, ha! I refused to see June as anything but my little pet. And what a bad one she was becoming!

Of course I could have stopped it all; by undoing everything that had unraveled by sowing a seed into June's mind that she had simply woken up from a strange and extraordinary dream. But to the thought of never seeing her again, something in my chest pressed against my collar bone, as though I was suffocating from lack of air which I felt was being harshly sucked from my lungs.

_Enough!_

I had to decide, with finality, that either I would undo it all, or keep my distance to sever this odd attachment before it went too far. It was simply that I missed my affect on her and that the recent days had been quite uneventful; I had become _used_ to poking and prodding at her. What wicked fun! Of course it was comprehensible why this sudden change in "scenery" made me restless!

Unexpectedly, something gripped me below the neck, refusing to let go, and my chest tightened again.

What if she were to succeed in her daunting task? How could I be so sure she wouldn't win the game? Perhaps she _would_ gain that deformed creature's affections and I would be forced to keep my word! Why did such a prospect make me ill at ease? Perhaps because if I were faced with that outcome, as powerful as I was, I had no influence on what the figurative heart held… But why would I want to? It wasn't as though it mattered!

No, it didn't matter, because it wouldn't come to that. Why would _now_ be the first time that I did not get what I wanted?

Before I could think too much about why my anger was returning, June's image swayed slightly on the surface of my looking-glass. My powers were uneven, and I realized that I had neglected to restore my strength, not having rested for at least two days. Eyeing my throne-like chair by the window, I sat down in respite, and closed my eyes, intending it to be brief.

As I rested, I was once again a spectator to June and her current circumstances. Though a bit hazy from this view, I could still see that my little pet was smiling to herself as she sat writing at her desk, with half a croissant by her elbow. Her pensive silhouette calmed me to the point that this scene faded from in front my mind's eye, and then, everything went black.

By the time my consciousness returned, it was hours later, and I regretted having to miss bits of my little pet's quest. It was upon thinking of June again, that the mirror's surface formed gentle, even waves like the surface water, and I could see that she was seated at a round table in a cheery café, dipping her small coffee cup to attain the last drop. Licking her velvet lips, she proceeded to dispense some money onto the table and got up. Before departing, she smiled at the bell above the door that had jingled, and most happily made her way to her Theatre-Palace, disturbingly too anxious to resume her duties.

Eager to return to her work without taking a full lunch, June was briskly walking back as though in fact, she was late, and not early, and my wonder made me watch in keen interest as to the cause. Had she _liked_ being a maid?

When a man came hurriedly toward her down the dim corridor, June's eyes lit up to the sight of him. She stopped him, and curtsied, evidently having planned this beforehand. He was someone of position, but his clothes were slightly askew, his half-unbuttoned vest revealing a wrinkled shirt, with his sleeves rolled up. Delving into his mind, I found out his name.

_Gabriel. The Chorus Master._

From beneath the cloak I had given her, she reached up and offered a metal flask to the man. Looking quite nonplussed, he scratching his head and at a loss for what to do or say to her.

The human girl smiled up at him hopefully and said she would do anything it took. She would be his assistant, if necessary. She told him that she was familiar with the building because she already worked there and that she would do anything to be in the Chorus…_anything._

It appeared my pet was in the midst of breaking a rule…but I kept watching, intrigued by her scheme and inquisitive about what she planned to pull off. Taking her fate into her own hands, was she? Two emotions were fighting to dominate within me; irritation and fascination. When it came to June, I now realized there were many such contrasting emotions and it was now that I understood how exhausting it was to analyze them.

The man took the flask and yanked out the corked-top, nosily peering inside, and warm, coffee scented air hit his brow. It wasn't just coffee, I heard him think, it was the exact thing he craved, but did not show it.

"What is your current position?" He asked, replacing the flask's cap and stared at it like a lost relic, without looking at June.

She swallowed her hesitation, and attempted to answer with pride, "I clean dressing rooms."

This brought his eyes to her, sweeping them over her form, wondering a combination of two things; neither one was respectable nor pleasant though somehow I refrained from the urge to cause him even the slightest pain.

Prepared to receive a useless reply, but perhaps to humor himself he asked anyway, "Can you sing?"

"Well enough, I believe." She answered breathlessly.

It was apparent he did not feel her belief had merit, but as if by routine, he continued, "Can you sight-read music?"

Trying to ignore how much this question offended her, instead she concentrated on thinking of all her previous years in her school's run-of-the-mill choir, hesitating only for a moment with her reply, "I'm a bit rusty, but I'm capable and it would come back if I practiced."

Both stood still, without another word. Slowly, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small bronze key, extending it to her, "Fetch my music from the Singers' Lounge and I will hear you."

Enthusiastically, June nodded with a suppressed grin, and took the key from him before jolting off with heartfelt excitement, while he watched her depart with a low-lidded, dull stare.

Her happiness was permeable, and it beckoned me to lay my finger-tips onto the glass, its surface shifting where my fingers slightly pressed. If I had wanted it, I could have gone to her then, but I merely smiled along with her as she unlocked the door and impatiently searched the room for the music until she saw it sitting on the piano.

Rushing to grab the booklet while turning at the same time, some of the sheets of score scattered, and floated about her. To my amusement, she giggled, her cheeks blushing from elation and I watched her anxiously gather them and leave the room, locking the door again.

After a couple of comical tries, she finally managed to turn the key. With shaky hands, she brushed her gown to smoothen out the wrinkles of her dress and straightened her bodice. In that same instance, from the corner of her eye she saw movement, and just to catch a figure turn a nearby corner and disappear, almost simultaneously…

"Monsieur Gabriel? I have the music, where-" She looked around but the shape was gone. My poor little June looked positively frightened. Perhaps she should have been, knowing what I did.

Intrigued with this new twist, I watched June turn the same corner and caught the shape again as it was about to vanish into a shadowy abyss. It was then, that a strange familiarity washed over her, and as if by reflex, she mouthed with trembling lips:

_Erik!_

So deep in her own thoughts and her heart alive with emotion, it was only when that shape froze, that June realized her voice had accompanied them.

Smirking, I watched June's dumbfounded expression and the entire spectacle, as the shadow stiffly re-emerged from partial black obscurity, and was now hidden only by murky darkness. It was only two glowing coals floating ahead that were discernable, and they were now moving toward her...


	14. June: Erik's Name

**A/N: sigh I guess I can't hope for more reviews. But then again, I remind myself that I'm writing this for my entertainment, so... in any case, I hope you enjoy this chapter. Ciao!****

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Erik's Name 

**June**

The score slipped from under my arm, and I gaped ahead at Erik with a bizarre combination of horror and fascination. Should I have feared for my life? Or…at least pretended to?

For the longest moment, I was deaf to everything but the incessant, loud thumping of my heart in my ears as my body went numb from shock.

_Oh my God, oh my God, it's him!_

With the pages having settled onto the floor, it was only when we heard a small jingle of the key hitting marble that I became alert and those eyes froze in the dimness, the figure that was now a dark silhouette against the semi-lit corridor stopping but a few metres away.

Startled out of my slight trance, I was now fully aware that The Phantom stood before me, ready to pounce. Just barely, I was able to keep from smiling as I watched his head dart around to see if anyone else happened to be in earshot to hear the cling that had resounded.

Apparently relieved when dead silence ensued, but still rigid from unease, he returned to eyeing me suspiciously before taking another ominous step ahead. Did I remember correctly that he refrained from using the Punjab lasso on women? Perhaps I would no longer be alive if I had been a man?

"What did you say?" It was a slightly muffled whisper, stilted and strained with urgency, which came from beneath the black mask, as those gleaming, amber eyes narrowed.

_Crap. What was I supposed to say to that? I had said nothing…nothing at all! _

I was excited, but strangely, not from terror. Really, if I had been from this world and age, I would have been scared out of my wits; frightened and ready to scream bloody murder…or at the very least, "_It's him! It's the Opera ghost!"_ like one of those tiresome little ballet rats. But, being who I was, I just stood there, eyes wide from astonishment, frozen stiff _and_ melting into a puddle at the same time…if that was even possible?

When I opened my mouth to speak, nothing came out – my voice failing me. After a couple of attempts, I gave up. I wondered then, w_ould it just be best to play dumb?_

And all too naturally under such strange circumstances, the dialogue with myself continued:

_Yes, the Phantom had misheard me, with his keen sense of hearing. What I had said was something else completely different, and as hilarious as it seemed, as soon as I would find something to rhyme with his name, I would convince him of it._

The man before me inspired many of my poems, yet upon seeing him before me, real enough to touch, watching him coming toward me, I became a complete idiot, unable to think of a single word… it was…it was as though my brain had forgotten how to rhyme!

_Okay…so say something…anything! The Phantom will think you're a doofus!_

As hard as I tried, deep down I was glad that my mind was numb and it was to my relief that it refused to switch to my 'poem-mode'…probably due to that fact that I had never attempted a poem under pressure before, no matter how much I enjoyed writing them.

It must have been from his presence that I was too star-struck to string together enough words to even form a coherent sentence. What if I had just explained to him how I had gotten here, and why I knew him…?

But I wasn't sure that my aim was to indirectly convince him that I was insane…

_True, that would mean he would see that I was no danger to him… but… did I really want to avoid what could happen? Now that he was here… I couldn't just throw this… opportunity…away! How could I not take this road?_

Apparently losing his temper, he swiftly approached with two great strides, and quickly tugged me into a badly lit corridor nearby with a stealthy grip around my arm. Instantly, he pinned me against another door, his soft, black leather-gloved fingers of one hand curling around my neck. A mix of his scent and something less pleasant hit my nose, and I recognized it from Christine's narrative as the 'smell of death', though it hardly took away from the significance of the incident.

When my reaction was a sharp gasp, it was misconstrued and his other hand hastily flew to cover my mouth. Cautiously, with amber eyes that seemed to capture the slightest light, peered around, until he was once again made certain that we were still alone and his piercing gaze returned to me.

I was utterly mesmerized by his alluring presence, as I watched him motion with a decisive yet hypnotic gesture for me to remain silent; in a fluid manner, he raised a long, elegant finger to his partially visible lips, the top half of which were covered by the black, velvet covered mask he wore.

He appeared to be inspecting my face, analyzing it as though he was searching for something…was I familiar to him, perhaps? Had Julian not wiped his mind as he had mentioned? Just as I thought this, our eyes locked for a wonderful, all too brief instant…and I couldn't help but sigh with hope.

When I nodded beneath his hand, he unexpectedly leaned closer, pulling my heart into my throat, but leaving a lump there once it dropped back down in disappointment upon realizing the cause: It had only been to open the door against which I was being pressed.

As he shoved me into the dusky room, I heard him hiss after me that he was sure he was not mistaken about what had slipped from my mouth. Once inside, I stood dumbly, as I watched him enter, and then close the door gently behind him. With an unseen swiftness, he turned an invisible key, locking us inside, with not even a single glance at his own hand.

Addicted to the sight of him, I merely gawked at him as he approached me again, too caught up in the sight of how his cloak hung about his shoulders; and even in his unsure state, how he moved about like a panther.

_I was now locked in a room with Erik! Poor Erik…if he only knew how much danger he was putting himself in…_

Taking a quick glance survey of the space, I saw that we were, in what appeared to be an unoccupied dressing room, located at the far end of a corridor no one ever noticed. It really was all by itself… and I had never recalled cleaning it. By the layer of dust everywhere, it appeared no one else had either. On a small table, stood a lit lantern, the lack of dust on it revealing that it was recently placed there… Perhaps this room was his portal to the world above?

When my attention returned to him, he was standing still as a statue with his arms crossed and menacingly staring at me.

Suddenly the strange, floating puzzle pieces in my befuddled brain joined together to form a lucid, logical picture that made complete and utter sense. My theory was immediately confirmed when I noticed a full-length mirror covering the entire back wall of the dressing-room.

Then slowly, from the corner of my eye I saw him approach, but it was the sudden chill in the air that pulled me from my deep thoughts, "…I intend on getting the answer out of you; one way or another."

Those words, that should have been a threat, only managed to send waves of delight through me. It was when came to stand quite close to me that his demeanor had the fullest effect though, and I stumbled back under his glare. To each step I took backward, he followed, and I retreated right into the seat of a creaky rocking chair.

At this point, my only reply was one of those loud, comical gulps. What exactly was he going to do…?


	15. June: Foot In Mouth Syndrome

**A/N: Okay, so here's yet another longer than usual chapter - I hope you appreciate it: ) I had more than my usual fun writing this and hopefully you look as much forward to what will follow as I : ) Now, please read, enjoy, and reviews are appreciated, but not expected. Yes, I've come to terms with that.**

**Well, here it is!****

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**Foot-in-Mouth Syndrome**

**June**

If it was his plan to see me crack from his intense and alluringly beautiful gaze, he was gravely mistaken. What he didn't know, was that I could have stared back at him for literally an eternity. I could only think that if he could hear me thinking, I would have sounded like a complete lunatic! And it was a good thing I didn't leave my mouth open; because I couldn't be held responsible for the outcome, i.e. slight drooling.

_How am I ever expected to behave like a normal person around him?_

Beyond these silly and fanciful thoughts, only a part of me registered the significance of the situation; failing to realize the gravity of how much danger I was putting myself in. Yes, I _knew_ that I should have been terrified, but I just couldn't feel it…!

But wait, wouldn't Julian make sure I didn't hurt myself? I was aware of what little I meant to him, but I was still his entertainment…though maybe he hadn't even been watching now and in an angered spite, he purposely left me unprotected? Discomforting as this prospect was, somehow, such a notion didn't surprise me.

As his imposing shape stood directly in front of me, his luminous, golden eyes looked down his mask's nose over his tightly crossed arms with a dark, scrutinizing gaze.

"Who _are_ you?" From beneath the black mask sounded that voice of glorious, dark timbre.

Aside from velvet quality of his melodious voice, had there been another person in the room, I would have only known it was him speaking from seeing his eyes narrow at the emphasis.

Perhaps he tended to throw his voice without really realizing it? Or perhaps he was attempting to frighten me with his surrealistic talent? If so, once again it wasn't working as he would have hoped, though the chilled hate that laced his words still made my stomach turn.

Again, I swallowed with difficulty, unable to think of what to say. What was he expecting from me? Was he expecting me to say that I was a spy working with his 'friend' the Daroga, and that he was the one who had revealed things to me? It would have been quick and easy answer, though not without its uncomfortable series of consequences.

The more I thought about it, any answer would have some kind of consequence, though I needed to find the one which was least costly and at the same time, most beneficial…

_So, I'm from the future… no._

_A sorcerer granted my wish… no._

_I think you're beautiful…uh…a definite no._

So here I was, in the company of The Phantom, and I was left miserably without words! I could think of nothing but…

"My name is June…"

As I trailed off, he squinted in annoyance, and we both realized my answer wasn't adequate. Drawing in great breath of frustration, he must have been preparing himself for a great and impossible feat.

In a tone that seemed to become even darker, he spoke more forcefully, "From _whom_ or _where_ do you know that name?"

_I read it in a book about you, written by Gaston Leroux…no._

When I failed to keep a straight face at the thought of how he would react to that, he exhaled irritably and whispered harshly through gritted teeth, "What is so amusing, Mademoiselle?"

Quickly, I shook my head in response, "No, it's…just that…I…can't say."

_The last thing I want to be in his eyes is to appear that I was not in my right mind!_

"Cannot or _will not_?"

Perplexed at his not-too-subtle inference, I pondered the meaning of that question for a moment as Julian's disapproving face swirled in the forefront of my mind. When he realized I had trouble differentiating between the two, his tone became lighter, although almost mockingly playful.

"Then perhaps, spending some time chained up in a murky cell with rats as your company would make you more certain?"

Appalled at the threat, my mouth dropped open and I instantly sprang to my feet, screeching his name with the certainty of a disapproving friend. In the same instant, he reacted with an antagonistic jerk that pulled me back down into the chair.

"I advise you, Mademoiselle, to refrain yourself from being so bold." He stated just above a deceivingly calm whisper; though his frame was tense from breathing heavily.

Consciously, I made a mental note that I shouldn't forget our state of unfamiliarity… which of course meant…

…_hugging him is out of the question._

"Look," I began as gently as I could, gripping the arms of the rocking chair with suppressed anxiety, "I have known this about you for a long time, and I have never used it against you – nor do I intend to."

After staring silently at me, and clearly at a loss for words, he sighed loudly before turning away. Then slowly, with moderately paced steps, he pensively moved to stand in front of the mirror at the far end of the room while observing my reflection.

"You should be careful, Mademoiselle – there are certain crumbs of knowledge that can be hazardous to your health." As menacing as he intended to sound, there was no anger in his tone; rather, it was momentarily replaced with one of brooding misery as he raised both hands to his mask, appearing to adjust it.

It also sounded as though his concern was genuine and the last thing he wanted to do was to harm anyone.

Really, I could have stopped then and there, and I was sure I could have convinced him that I knew nothing of significance or that he had no reason to fear the fact that I knew so much. A part of me felt compelled to leave him alone, so he could vanish and lick his all too exposed wounds…

Instead, like some buffoon, in my hasty effort to console him for what little guilt he struggled with, I neglected to put a filter between my proceeding thoughts and my mouth:

"Well my mouth is sealed about it all...even about your torture chamber...in all fairness, without it you would be defenseless in your own home..."

_As an excellent example of foot-in-mouth syndrome, it gets worse…_

"…well, you had to have something there to keep you safe! People were bound to wander below the Opera…"

_Shut up, June! Shut up!_

But I went on, and even stood up, inspirited by my growing enthusiasm.

"…curiosity taking them to the entrance to your underground lair, and even deeper to explore beyond the fourth cellar–" My hands suddenly flew to my mouth when I realized it had run away with me.

Simultaneously, the room fell unexpectedly silent and his shape froze. The situation was quite similar to when he had first heard me say his name, except this time he appeared to be more lividly aghast than curiously shocked. His arms that had been crossed were now afloat by his sides, held slightly in the air in agitation.

"How much exactly _do_ you know, Mademoiselle?"

Gesturing with a finger, but unable to accompany it with words, I simply squeaked, then sat back down only to slouch with a desperate wish that I could take back the last one and a half minutes of excessive babble.

For what felt like an endless moment, he stared at me with intense astonishment, his distant, harsh, piercing eyes glaring at me. Without warning, he approached quickly, grabbing the lantern from the small table near me, his abruptness causing me to gasp.

With a quick glance at me, he turned on his heels, only to walk swiftly back to the mirror to trigger it to swivel, sweeping himself out of my sight with a brief flash, along with every last ounce of light, leaving me blinking in complete, pitch-black darkness.

_Double crap._

Awkwardly sitting in the black void, unable to see even my own nose, I began to wonder where he had gone. Somehow I doubted he would be returning any time soon and that perhaps he had left me to fend for myself…?

Okay, so I was in a locked room, in total darkness…

Unable to sit in one place from the discomfort of the eerie darkness, and not just an urging memory of Gabriel waiting for me to audition, I got up with determined intention to inspect my surroundings and find a way out. There had to be a spare key somewhere…or more possibly, a hair-pin – this had been a dressing room, had it not? But did I _want_ to go rummaging through unknown drawers in the dark?

_With such limited options, yes._

From mental recollection, I touched and felt my way to the vanity dresser located along the wall I was walking against. If I was able to locate a hair-pin, I would have a tough time finding the door, much less the keyhole! But I would attempt it anyhow...what else could I do?

Before I allowed myself to think about what crawlies could be creeping in the unseen drawers, shafts and crevices, my fingers were exploring the vanity drawers and pulling out any that would budge.

I was entirely under the impression that I was alone, until without any warning, I felt something abruptly wrap around me, encircling my upper body, arms and all. Before even registering that I needed to struggle (or perhaps not feeling the need to because I assumed it was Erik), a pungent smelling cloth was shoved against my face, disorienting my already blunt senses. Held mercilessly against my assailant, I thrashed about in vain, only to gasp desperately for breath. As my strength waned with each passing second, I eventually fell into soft, unconscious oblivion.


	16. June: Masked Admonition

**A/N: Ta-da! Here is another chapter. It's somewhat strange but you'll understand what's going on once you read it. Anyway, I hope you enjoy :)**

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**Masked Admonition**

**June**

Strange, that I was alone, in close to complete darkness, in an unknown place, yet I was not afraid. Even as I listened to the eerie echo of my footsteps, I felt safe, walking down the length of a seemingly endless, cool, stone-laid passage which was lit by seldom glowing, immense wall torches. At first without a destination, I wandered aimlessly; picking random turns and not glancing back, simply exploring my foreign surroundings, but that seemed to lose its charm after a while.

Just as I was beginning to get annoyed, a creepy wave swept over me – one of a sudden feeling of someone watching me. Stopping, I realized that this sensation was recognizable, though it aggravated me that I couldn't see anyone around. As I thought about how this feeling reminded me of certain days back home, a newer wave swept over we, like that of sensing a pair of eyes that were piercing a hole into the back of my skull –the presence was behind me.

When I turned to find a silhouette standing at a distance, I stood gaping, barely seeing the cloaked shape that stood at the end of a long corridor. Approaching the figure with slow, unsure steps, I inspected it.

As soon as my eyes began to discern it from the surrounding darkness, I could see that it was a man hidden in a long, heavy cloak, with a cowl hanging halfway onto his face. The half left uncovered was much too shadowy to be a face, and as the distance closed between us, I realized that the black material was velvet of a full mask he was wearing. My heart skipped a beat as I felt the deep need to quicken my pace.

Just as I reached a proximity that allowed me to see the gleam of his eyes, a part of me recognized this fragment of a familiar countenance and I stopped to stand directly before him.

_Erik… _

Once I mentally spoke his name, his eyes beneath the mask narrowed and as if on cue, a hand reached up from beneath the elegant cloak, showing me his black, leather-gloved palm, offering his fingers for me to take.

When I did so without hesitation, he grasped my hand firmly, almost possessively. As I allowed him to pull me further down a corridor, it was only a passing thought that I recalled Andrew Lloyd Webber's stage show, and how this incident was so like a particularly favourite scene of mine. A part of me was quite disturbed that the situation resembled any and all day dreams I've had throughout my Phantom-obsessed years.

After at last turning a corner, we finally stopped upon reaching a great, arched door made of intricately carved, dark red wood. Effortlessly, he drew it open in a gracefully flowing motion, and a large shaft of golden sunlight poured inside at my feet, momentarily blinding me. When my view adjusted to the outdoor brightness, I could see what was beyond the door – emerald grass greeted my eyes, the outskirts of a garden in spring; the flourishing, green patch of grass bordered by rose-blossom-speckled shrubs and vines.

With my hand still firmly in his, I followed him outside into the midst of the garden where we stood in silence while I inspected my otherworldly surroundings in awe.

There appeared to be thousands of roses, in a breathtaking array of colours imaginable; their multitude and intensely intoxicating fragrance overwhelming my senses. A tall, thick, white boundary of block-shaped stones was hardly distinguishable from the abundance of plant life running over it; and further down, the barrier vanished altogether, where it was replaced by an entrance to a shrub-labyrinth.

"Do you like my rose garden?"

Half acknowledging the question, I nodded only slightly, much too amazed from the sight. I took another glance around before I could feel being forcefully drawn back to my companion.

"It's beautiful…"

_So beautiful, that I was made sure it was a dream… but what a strange dream to be having about Erik…_

The masked man was eyeing me thoughtfully, and his intense gaze urged me to back away from him. As I pulled my hand away, he let it slide out of his, but with a rapid reflex, he took hold of my wrist and pulled me toward him so our faces (that is, my face and his mask) were close to touching.

Startled frozen from terror upon catching his intensely burning gaze and the feeling the painful steel-tight grip holding me near him, I watched numbly as he unhurriedly reached up to the mask with his other hand, and smoothly removed it without unlocking his eyes from my own.

_Julian!_

His lips were smirking as usual, but the severity in his glare sent a shiver up my spine. It didn't help when those dark, menacing orbs flashed crimson at me.

"You've been very naughty little pet, my dear little June."

"What…?"

Frightfully, the scene around us began to shift; the flowers began to wither and all that had been thriving but a moment before – the grass, vines and shrubs – were now turning brown and dry; his garden dying as his anger grew. The sky above us too, was no longer a velvet baby blue, but instead, was overcast with thick, sinister-looking rain-clouds.

"The rules, my pet – _my_ rules. You have been making a habit of breaking them and we shall have to have a little talk about that when you come back…"

I could barely utter a single syllable as he seemed to be enjoying my discomfort, and in that dreadful moment, I truly realized how powerless I was to escape him and how I had been mistaken about how much freedom I really had.

When his face was close enough so that our lips could have touched, I shook my head violently and began to struggle with all of my strength, opening my mouth to scream as I squeezed my eyes shut. But there was only silence before I heard Julian's dark laugh echoing menacingly in my mind.

From a tiny screech to a harsh shriek, my scream grew in volume. I felt my consciousness drift to the surface, as I blinked my eyes open again to the sight of a shape standing in the semi-darkness just ahead, touched by a slight golden hue of a small, flickering flame. As my brain was registering this scene, the skull-splitting pain attacked with full force – the one that I would always recognize as the penalty I would be paying until the time would run out and the full bill was to be due...


	17. June: Not So Beneficial Consequences

**Not-So Beneficial Consequences**

**June**

Perhaps I would have found the situation to be more humorous if I hadn't been so preoccupied with the throbbing ache engulfing my skull. I really would have preferred to behave in a more dignified manner, which entailed not rolling around on Erik's carpet like some deranged lunatic, holding my head while bellowing like a banshee.

Gradually, a silent exhaustion enveloped me as my perception cleared, and the garden around me had vanished completely, though the sensation that I was being watched did not. Although I was incredibly relieved to be sure that it wasn't Julian's presence that I sensed, I could still feel his vicious, vice-tight grip around my wrist. A soothing darkness surrounded me now, which was a tremendous but comforting contrast to the garishly sunny, bright outdoor scene that had existed only in my mind…It felt more real than that, though I forced my brain to clear completely, in favour of the calm reality and the soft ticking of an unseen clock.

In truth, the pain _was_ noticeably less intense than the first time I had felt it and it even began to diminish more quickly, though it seemed that Julian had conveniently forgotten to mention that other symptoms would replace the dissolving soreness – such as, distinct nausea, accompanied by a heavy grogginess and an intense burning in my eyes. Also, as foggy as ever, my brain was unable to place the horridly unpleasant taste that relentlessly lingered in my mouth, and a smell that refused to leave the back of my nose.

Oh, but then again, maybe these symptoms had something to do with how I had gotten to wherever I was…no longer in that dusty, abandoned dressing-room…because…

_Because I was chloroformed!_

So much for my aspirations to be a Rocket Scientist, or winning that Nobel Prize – I was now, officially, short a few thousand brain cells!

I had always wondered what it was like for Christine to be swept away by The Phantom…although this was a side of it that wasn't particularly pleasant – the only parts of the 'sweeping' I remembered was becoming immensely startled by an attacker, and then losing consciousness. Slowly, I recalled how panic-stricken I was to be suffocated by having to breathe into a rag… There really was nothing romantic about it and I hoped that I would never have to experience such a thing again.

Once again, I subconsciously questioned Christine Daäé's whereabouts. The dressing-room had been hers…but it was obviously not occupied by her…yet. Regrettably, I hadn't been able to catch a glimpse of the Chorus as of yet, and my audition would be indefinitely delayed – that is, if I still _had_ an audition. It was thanks to Erik that I would have to create another bribe-strategy for the Chorus Master…

Just as I thought about the details of my next attempt, the dream's images re-emerged; causing me to shudder involuntarily. Once again, I could hear Julian laughing in my face – what exactly would be waiting for me when I was to go back to my rented flat?

Shivering from fear (or was it the moist chill in the room?), I became more aware of the pair of eyes watching me keenly. While rubbing my sore temples, my vision began to adjust to the darkness, and I looked up to see Erik's lithe outline near a small, single candle's flame just up ahead. The Phantom of the Opera was leaning onto the cream-coloured, ornate mantle of an unlit fireplace with a slender elbow, while swirling a glass of golden liquid that he held with his gloved hand, delicately between his thumb and middle finger.

With his cloak hanging pleasingly about him, he stood still as a statue with this head cocked to one side, observing me with apprehensive interest. Gawking back at him with a mixture of awe and embarrassment, I watched his splendidly elegant, unmoving shape.

He was, by no means, a heavy-set man – very much unlike Julian, and it astounded me how well the long cape suited him, more so than it did that pompous, arrogant, pig-headed sorcerer.

As much as his striking, heavy cloak made my eyes whimsically trace his silhouette without end, I wondered why he hadn't removed it yet… we appeared to be in his home, yet he had refrained from making himself too comfortable… perhaps it was because he was quite on edge, and understandably so.

"Good Morning," he began with a wry tone, before nonchalantly placing the glass to his bottom lip between his fingers, and taking a swig of his drink. Such a simple thing, really, to take a sip of something – even this he performed with such charismatic gestures… "I trust you had a pleasant nap?" The sweet but dark chuckle he added sent pleasant shivers down my spine.

"How long have you–"

Enthralled by his well-dressed, tall stature, I wondered whether I was relieved or embarrassed when he finished my sentence for me.

"Been standing here? Long enough to see what you appear to be hoping I had not."

_So much for avoiding the crazy-person scenario…_

Were there stranger things in his experience than my bizarre and freakish display? Maybe at this point he was feeling relief, because his potential theory about my lack of sanity has now been demonstrated and if I were to tell all about what I had seen, not a single soul would be willing rely on my words.

"It happens every time I wake up," I explained standing up too quickly, and I swayed a bit. Unsuccessful at my attempt to suppress a gag-reflex, I fell onto the plush, maroon cushioned settee nearby, half covering my mouth, "although your _contribution_ isn't helping."

Staring haughtily at me with hard, auburn eyes, he said nothing at first. Then, setting the empty glass onto the mantle he resumed his usual, terribly appealing stance; his slim arms crossing imperiously at his chest as he snarled at me.

"My _contribution_, as you say, would not have been necessary if you had kept your little nose to yourself, and thereby not stick it where it does not belong."

_If my nose had been "sticking" anywhere, it had been in Leroux's book…_

Would I be able to explain it all without mentioning the circumstances around my strange and fantastic predicament? If he would listen, I would try…

"Erik, I–"

"You will _desist_, Mademoiselle, from _using_ that name."

Unfolding one arm, he jabbed the air before him forcefully in my direction with a threatening finger, and I could actually see sparks fly from those golden, sunken orbs. Was it not from the tiny light of the candle…?

How was it humanly possible to make your eyes flash the way his did then? And they stirred something so much more deeply than when Julian's own flickered threateningly at me. For God's sake, he was a sorcerer, yet my emotions were much more affected by the man who called himself the Phantom of the Opera, and refused to allow anyone to address him as any other.

As much as his words stung, I knew they hadn't been personal…though, I wondered then, would it have made me feel better to believe that they had been?


	18. Erik: A Spectre of a Dream

**A Spectre of a Dream**

**Erik**

It had been lunacy, these past few weeks, bothered by some strange dream that had been haunting me. It was only when I saw her, in flesh and blood but a mere two days ago that I realized a bizarre sense of familiarity when I first caught a glimpse of her face. I was caught within an obsessive need to follow her to quench my curiosity. I promised myself that I would leave it alone, as soon as I could understand it… but there can be no guarantee for any plan made, to be kept.

But this was just one side of it.

Completely at a loss for words, lacking comprehension and caught in a scenario beyond all reason, I had come to realize that this young woman knew secrets I had never revealed or shared with anyone.

_No, not shared…_

These two things could not have been a coincidence. Or perhaps, as in the words of an old adage, the simplest answer is usually the correct one:

There was the _one_, latching onto me with the need to be my conscience... in the guise of a friend. He, who would too many a times gallingly come calling without a word; inviting himself when I most yearned for solitude…

Ah, my insipid, tiresome Daroga, sniffing around where he should not be! Yes, the next time I would meet him, only to find out that he was to blame for this grating inconvenience, I would throttle my little conscience where he stood! Ha! What a great excuse to rid myself of the pest!

But sadly, after a long silence of mulling consideration, I could see no logic as to why he would reveal anything to anyone. Not now, after so many years of my occupancy had passed. There was the legendary Phantom or as I would prefer, _Opera ghost_, but who would think this spirit was a man?

Actually, a half-dead man in all respects, though simply a connoisseur of music and performance in my Opera theatre run by clueless management I could only see as idiots.

What would he gain now, by telling anyone what he knew about a harmless, fading ghost? Much less to a useless girl who appeared to be just barely a woman, eyeing me with doleful, dreamy eyes. What was it exactly in those eyes that I saw? It wasn't a gleam I was at all familiar with! Yet…

It irritated me beyond belief that I couldn't get anything out of her that even remotely resembled sense!

Once again, I resumed in questioning her about where she had heard my name, though I purposely neglected confirm that the name was indeed my own. Yet again, she looked up at me, opened her mouth to speak, but said nothing of importance before smiling sheepishly.

_Apparently I needed to come up with a more convincing tactics._

Releasing a frustrated noise that caused her to gasp, I proceeded to silently go about my flat in my dazed, helpless state, to light more candles, as I could feel her watching my every move. It was really more awkward than unsettling, but not at all something I was unaccustomed to.

Yes, it no doubt not only had something to do with the fact that I was now her captor, but that her captor morbidly hid his face behind a mask, like a coward. Numerously, I had expected her to flinch from seeing it; to gawk and explore its crevices with her eyes, but each time I shot her a casual but curious glance, her unnerving, hopeful gaze went straight to my own.

Yet, how odd it was really, that her glare was not invading, such as I had been fully prepared for; that of peaked inquisitiveness, but rather… as hard as it was to read accurately, and as ridiculous as it seemed, the young woman behaved as though she knew me!

And I had no recollection of ever meeting her… or did I?

With a huge sigh, I dropped to my seat onto the piano bench and cradled my masked face with both hands. What was happening to me?

With this sensation of unexplained familiarity, the sight of her also brought on a feeling of urgency. I felt I should be cautious, because somehow I was staggering by the edge of an unseen crag. There was a dangerous presence directly nearby and it was powerful beyond anything I had ever encountered.

This dream troubled me, though not as much as the images that haunted me in Persia; I would see those that died of my hands, each and every last face I had seen trapped within my mirrored walls, within the confines of the Shah's torture chamber…

But this time there were no blue-gray rotting corpses bemoaningly chasing me. In this distance dream, I would see her standing there, along with another shape next to her own. This other presence, I could only feel as an essence of resentment; I could never see him clearly; tell him apart from the shadows of the strange room, his visage grey and faceless.

My mind was racing in circles before a strange, faint gurgling sound pulled me from this reverie. When I looked up, I just caught the girl blush before she turned down self-consciously, placing a small hand onto her abdomen.

Without a word, and numb from the spinning images, I went into my pantry to see what I could find my guest to eat.

_My guest, ha!_

Though this last thought only managed to amuse me up until I realized my pantry was in desperate need of restocking.

When she turned to see that I had triggered the wall to shift aside, her brows lifted in alarm and she jumped to her feet.

"Where are you going?"

She rather sounded like she had a right to ask me such a thing!

"To get some food." I replied turning toward her only for a moment, and then was about to step through the doorway but she spoke again, in rather upset and panicked tone.

"You're leaving me here?"

My frame stiffening from disbelief, I merely blinked at her with narrowing eyes, "As opposed to…?"

That shut her up…though the wounded look on her face made me turn away. As I was about to vanish into the abyss beyond the outer wall of my house, a thought made me twirl back to face her, "Oh, and just a word of advice – if you touch anything, I will know." I hissed warningly, barely above a whisper though I was sure she had heard me when I could see the colour instantly drain from her face.


	19. June: Obsessed Houseguest

**A/N: Okay, so I've been working on this chapter for while now, chewing on it endlessly, and finally this is what came out. It's...well, sorry if it's not exactly exciting...but I need to set the scenery, so to speak... well, please enjoy and your reviews honour me :)**

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Obsessed Houseguest**

**June**

After the Phantom vanished into the murky blackness beyond his thick, outer door, I watched it slowly swing shut, its outline completely disappearing; the only hint of the entrance, a smooth, elegant brass lever. While staring at it, I heard the soft click of a lock turning as I smilingly imagined his languid movement with the key.

_The Phantom went grocery shopping. This could take forever._

Even with the nausea slowly subsiding, and my growling stomach's pleas, I wasn't sure that I found myself to be hungry. I was hoping it wasn't simply on my rumbling tummy's account that he had gone out… Though in any case, he was undoubtedly happy to get away from the awkward and strange situation that was presented by the company of his uninvited, obsessed houseguest.

Minutes later, I was still standing where he had left me, blinking in dismay and numb from the surreal, recent events. As I continued to gape across Erik's drawing room, past the shadows of the smaller vestibule-like space through which the Phantom had departed, my mind was refusing to believe what had just happened.

Without realizing it, I made my way to that little area, and stood in the semi-darkened space containing nothing but a small brownish divan, and a large, fancy chest of drawers.

_The Louis-Philippe room! But wasn't the Louis-Philippe room…Christine's room? The enclosure I occupied hardly qualified as a room!_

Not fixating too much on this notion, I ran my fingers over the marble top chest of drawers, and in that moment, I was having trouble deciding whether to jump up and down or pace back and forth. Being so caught and torn, I did both; screeching in one turn, then squealing in another like some mental case. I couldn't help but giggle at the thought of what he would think if he walked in to see me in this state. And of course, I would resort to smiling at him stupidly like some dolt.

How many crazed _phanatics_ would have sold their soul to be where I was? How many would have been able to as I had?

O_h God, I still have to face Julian after all of this!_

A flash of memory interrupted my frightened thought; one that indicated there would be another door across from where I stood – the door to a spare room made for Christine Daäé. Reaching ahead, I felt my way past a couple of soft, hanging cloaks in the dimness only to find another small lever.

When I pushed down on it, this other thick door smoothly swung inward, and I was gaping at what looked like a wine cellar; unlabeled green flasks that appeared to be water stacked amidst the dark, opaque, burgundy wine bottles.

_He sure likes his wine… but it doesn't make sense!_

Where was Christine Daäé's room? Maybe this had something to do with why the Louis-Philippe dresser somewhere other than her room…

A random bottle of wine I pulled out by the entryway was in fact different from the rest, and was a clear one with a golden fluid, glitteringly labeled _Chateau d'Yquem, 1859._ It appeared to be rather fancy, but the name meant nothing to me besides sounding excessively expensive.

For sure, Erik would have no less than the best of everything; but it wasn't just a matter of 'the best', but rather being particular…or unique. Oh, this man was more alluring by the second! I was beginning to realize that there was more to him than I had ever thought.

After making sure that everything was put back the way I had found it, I made my way back toward the drawing room. Stopping in the doorway of the Louis-Philippe Room, I captured the full scene of his drawing room décor and layout from the new angle.

To my immediate left was an apparatus that looked like folded up steps beneath heavy drapes. I wasn't sure how to unfold the steps, much less whether I would be able to fold them back without a hitch; so attempting a peek at the lifeless torture chamber would have to wait for another time. Hopefully never from within!

In general, all exposed walls of his drawing room were covered in ivory-coloured paneling, the full picture giving the impression that it was like any, ordinary above-ground house of the times.

On the left wall was also his fire place, where he had been standing so elegantly earlier; in the centre of the room was the settee off of which I had tumbled before; symmetrically placed on either side of it were two chairs of the same style, facing the unlit fire-place at an outward angle. The Persian rug that encompassed these was immense and ornately pleasing to look at.

_Not to mention, soft, from what I recalled when I rolled around on it._

When I peered to my right, I saw a smooth, ebony, polished grand piano, its keys hidden under the cover, surrounded on two sides by walls covered with shelves, which were loaded with scores, Operas, pieces for violin, for piano, for organ…for voice…

_I so wish I could hear him sing!_

As I reached to take a closer look at yet another piece, I caught a strange play of shadow on my wrist…though, it didn't move or dance as shadows ought to. At a closer glance, I realized that it was shaped like a hand, and that it was, in fact, not shadow, but a bruise...

Even if it had been nothing more than a dream, Julian had been real. In that moment I was desperately fearful that his threats were no different.

Desperate for a distraction, I moved to the adjacent wall, running my hand across the slippery surface of the piano, and away from the majestic instrument, where the stacks of music turned into a small stack of books. His private library consisted of Voltaire, Stendhal, Verne and Balzac, to name a few. I couldn't help but grin like a drunkard.

_Wow. A complete intellectual._

I would be exploring his books later…

Nearby was the dining-room, I noticed when I peered through a doorway to the left. Within, there was small round, mahogany table with two chairs, pushed against the right wall; also along this wall was a set of light, long, cream-coloured curtains that were drawn shut as though they covered bright windows. The walls themselves were lined in a pattern resembling brickwork, with smooth, ivory tiles.

At the opposite end, a short but lengthy cabinet lined the wall, with elaborate, brass knobs, on top of which were a few bottles of liquor next to a decanter filled with the familiar yellow-orange fluid.

Directly to my right, was a closed door, which I gathered, must have led to _his_ room. Putting pressure with my hand on the lever, I was expecting resistance, where there was none. He had left it unlocked. After all, what reason would I have to go snooping about? Obviously he partially thought I would get curious, but not to the extent that I actually did.

_Being an obsessed freak has its advantages. But such a thing is beyond his comprehension, thank God._

And I wasn't planning to add 'obsessive' to Erik's mental list of me that no doubt already contained 'lunatic'.


	20. Erik: The Voice

**A/N: Wow, I actually did it. Though I'm not too sure I'm completely satisfied as my brain hasn't quite cleared from all the antibiotics and other medication. I was just so eager to start writing now that my stomach flu, sinus infection, strep throat and head cold have respectively left. Thank you! Now, I'm off to bed since it's past 1am.**

**Well, I hope you enjoy and I look forward to hearing (er...or reading) what you all think :)****

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The Voice**

**Erik**

With disturbingly real, fantastic images whirling about in my skull like a merciless cyclone, I stopped at about halfway through the winding passages that led to Rue Scribe. From the realization that I had neglected to produce a list of pantry essentials before departing, I cursed my blind haste and the effects of needing to escape my awkward company.

Without a doubt, returning to my flat at this point to face that strange young woman was out of the question. It was just a matter of borrowing some ink and paper from elsewhere – such as, the Managers' office – yes that would do nicely!

_Yes, I do foresee new gossip involving the disappearance of some office supplies!_

Dispassionately, I passed within the walls of the auditorium, and was well aware that understudy auditions for Carlota were underway, but my intrigue was not piqued enough for me to watch. Not only this, but I was barely in the mood to criticize from feeling far too uneasy about leaving a stranger alone in my home. Of all things insane, I had never gone as far as that!

As I was about to pass the great, hollow pillar that led to my private box, a beautiful, sweet sound of a singing voice stopped me in mid-thought, gripping my chest with a sudden, yet caressing touch. My skin prickled in hot waves, and goose-bumps formed in their wake. This sensation would not go away; it multiplied by folds, and turned into one long ebb-tide that engulfed me, immobilizing me, grasping my heart and stroking it at the same time.

_A Siren!_

The last time such sensations overtook me was when I had indulged in a little too much morphine, far too swiftly – my pulse raced in the same manner, though this euphoria was caused by a distant, melodious voice, and not a wicked narcotic surging through my veins.

After catching my quickened breath with immense difficulty, it was in my desperate urge to see the host of this enthralling voice that pressed me to noiselessly scramble up the hidden ladder and slip out into the box along side the heavy maroon curtains hanging above. Amidst the friendly shadows and wrapped fully in my cloak, I cautiously moved to slowly peek around the material, past the empty seats, setting my eyes onto the stage, where a frail young girl was standing, her golden tresses illuminated by the harshness of the overzealous spotlight.

With a shape that appeared to be so much like a child's, her face was terribly pale for someone living above. The poor thing looked as though she were about to faint, but by some miracle she kept singing, her sweet voice wrapping around me like a captivating fragrance.

Indeed, this angelic voice was a gift, true and simple; even with the rare jabbing of notes, the gaps and lack of merging between her registers, the unearthly quality of her tone was all that I could hear. What if...? What if I could show her… lead her to feel, to caress her sound, using her tone to spin that golden thread to her advantage?

I watched in a dumbstruck daze, as she finished her Swedish folk song, and could hear my speeding pulse in my ears in the silence that settled on the Managers as they were apparently at a loss for mediocre words of praise. Could they have heard something too…?

At once, with only a moment's hesitation, they offered her a part of chorus, and seemed to be quite pleased with themselves for having been able to deal with such a new situation. And I had an inexplicable urge to knock them upside their heads.

_...two boobs with one stone. Oh, those f__ools! The girl lacked training - yes, they could heard it, but it was no surprise that they lacked the depth of spirit to recognize it!_

I knew that whatever decision they would make, would only affect the management to follow, so it mattered little to them. For years I had struggled with some of their production choices, and to my relief, they offered little resistance when their ghost began to run their business. They should consider themselves lucky that my rate has not increased!

Watching the girl, I was sure that this little voice would surely be lost if it was to be left in the Chorus in the long term. Eventually it would dwindle and become one of many, blending in, and losing complete substance and uniqueness. First and foremost, I had to get the girl out of the obscurity of the Chorus. That voice needed to survive; it was too beautiful to mix with common, average human voices.

Faintly, I began to recognize the advantages that my unique position could offer. No, I didn't yet know how exactly, but I knew that the answer was, in some way, in my hands. But how could a ghost do anything about it? Much less a fading one?

Well… Perhaps the fading ghost needed to emerge from the shadows to be a _real live ghost, _and live up to his persuasive legend!

_Yes, that was it! They were getting complacent, and it was time to make my presence more known!_

In all the years of my pitiful, empty existence, I could see a small glimmer of my raison d'être:

The girl looked happy enough to have made it as far as she had. It was then I realized she hadn't aimed for the spot of Carlota's understudy, and was grateful to have been offered any situation.

_Good God, could I hope to rid myself of Carlota? That in itself is a motivating idea!_

Yes, I would devise a plan that would get rid of Carlota's soulless voice, once and for all! This would be perfectly ideal! To provide this…this girl enough training, so this Management could hear what I did, and I would never have to cringe at how defaced my chosen Operas were! Because they could be sung the way the Heavens had meant! Yes, I could make something out of her! Out of…this girl; so far without a name.

I was grinning like a madman, even when the next one auditioned began to sing rather detestably. All I could think of was my evolving plan to expel that wench, Carlota onto her rear.

Still numb from this recent event, I gathered my wits and made my way back underground through the column from which I had emerged, at a time that seemed to be a part of a different life altogether.

Barely being able to concentrate, I returned to my dressing-room entrance (once borrowing a sheet, a pen and just a bit of ink), where I finished up the list of groceries by the light of my dim lantern, to provide to a trustworthy Stableman I could always bribe to courier messages for me to Jules.

Mindlessly, I took the familiar path that led to the entrance of the stables, my mind spinning from thrilled anxiety. I could not recall the last time I had been excited about anything!

After a brief moment of searching, my sore eyes adjusted to the abrupt, sharp light spilling into the enclosure, and as always, I found Gérard grooming a white Arabian by the name of César.

His dark little corner had a habit of attracting wads of franc notes, especially in circumstances that the elusive Opera ghost required his messaging services. Without hesitation, but careful observation, Gérard slipped the money into his coat and skulked away, disappearing inconspicuously amongst the street-bustle of the late afternoon.


	21. June: And Then The Phantom Returns

**A/N: Wow, it's 1am again. Thank you to all the reviewers! Well, hope you guys enjoy...**

**Homediamond: I really wish you had an account! Any reason you don't have one?**

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…**And Then The Phantom Returns**

**June**

It was a quick debate that took place in my mind then – one of two sides being wanting to enter, and the other, unsure and terrified at the idea that Erik would catch me in his room. Then again, I realized that any consequence at this point was far outweighed by the reality that in a few short weeks, I didn't know what would happen to me, and even if I would still exist!

Julian was intent on collecting his payment, and somehow I knew that when that time would come, things would never be the same…so, feeling as though I had nothing to lose, I entered The Phantom's room.

Smooth black silk and satin adorned the walls of Erik's room, beneath a white, perfectly painted stave, with the repetition of notes and corresponding recurrence of the familiar words to _Dies Irae_.

A soft scent lingered in the air – a men's cologne that was familiar…

In the centre of the room against the left wall was a dark canopy with dark red brocade, its curtains fully drawn. Beyond the heavy drapes was the unseen coffin, though peeking within revealed nothing but its outline from the lack of light. As I ran my fingers along its scratched lip, I savoured the softness of the canopy's material hanging so close that it brushed my cheek as stepped back out.

To my left was a wardrobe, with fancy loop handles that I squeezed blissfully. Smilingly, I opened its doors and that scent hit me again…yes, that's right, it was the scent from our first meeting outside the corridor… remembering how close he had been caused my heart to skip a beat.

Trying very hard to ignore that little voice of my conscience, I went on to run my fingertips along the edge of a shirt, seeing that all of them were pressed.

_When did Erik have time to do his Laundry?_

Then I realized that he probably had people do things for him…it was just a matter of money; an area he had very little trouble with.

Within the aroma-filled closet, I saw many identical suits, pants, and vests hanging in sets. There was a line of smaller drawers in the centre of the wardrobe, but I had managed to convince myself that the stuff within them was none of my business.

Truthfully, I was relieved that there hadn't already been anything of a more personal nature, and was glad that I had been successful at refraining myself from opening these smaller drawers. Did I really want to find The Phantom's under-garments? No. Of course, I would be lying to myself if I thought that I wasn't tempted at all by this prospect-

_June, you're obsessed, yes, but not perverted! And you respect him too much! _

Just around the corner to the right, was a door to a large, spacious bathroom. The sink, water closet and bathtub were expectedly black. There was even a small enclosed space that looked like a shower, with something that looked like a tank of water above it.

Then there was his organ, directly nearby the bathroom, which was covered in layers of paper and on a small table near it was a tied stack which I noticed upon closer inspection had Don Juan Triumphant scrawled on it. Not that I could actually see the letters; I could barely make out the words' shapes in the semi-darkness, and knew all too well what it read.

About another fifteen to twenty minutes later, I was not only fully satisfied with my tour, but I got to enjoy certain areas of his flat…

Upon returning, Erik found an image of pure innocence – me, seated in a chair, nearest to the spot he had left me, literally twiddling my thumbs; there was no clue as to how I had spent the lengthy time that I had been left to my own devices in his tastefully decorated abode.

Only his nicest cloak (which was now hanging in its proper place as it had been before he had left) was privy to the fondling of and drooling on his Don Juan manuscript; the piano keys were again covered, after they had aided me in my amusement with an excited interpretation of Chopsticks, and the book I had been perusing, then balancing on my head was back in its spot.

It was when he stepped inside that I noticed his arms were full of parcels, though he didn't seem to struggle with them. Even so, I sprang to my feet, practically sprinting to where he was now crouching above an open latch in the floor, and I watched as he dispensed some of the items into it.

In turn, as he noticed my presence, I received an odd, astonished glance before he closed the latch to the hole that seemed to be filled to its brim. Just as I had become aware that he left a parcel out, he stood with it, and shoved it into my arms as he walked by.

As the scent wafting from the small package in my grasp made my mouth water, I watched in stunned awe as Erik nonchalantly made his way to stand in the centre of his drawing room, apparently inspecting the place; no doubt making sure everything was where he had left it.

He then reached up and removed his top hat, and ran his black, leather hand over his head as though to flatten the hair that was obviously a wig; it appeared to be far too sheen and perfectly combed. Not just that, but I knew all too well that he didn't have a lot of hair!

_Hey, the Andrew Lloyd Webber's version wasn't so far off with the wig! But then again, some of those book cover artists were incorrect – especially the one where he's just standing there by the stairs of the roof! Without a hat much less! People of these times never went anywhere without hats… _

Next, he removed his cloak, and then suddenly swirled back from the realization that he wasn't alone, and as though he was curious to see my reaction to seeing him so exposed. In that moment, I truly wished that I could have kept a straight face, but only managed to do so halfway.

_What did he get from that half-smile_, I wondered.

Having tossed his hat and cloak aside onto a chair, he turned back to his drawing room and placed his hands on his hips, pulling himself up to his full height. This stance strongly reminded me of the part in Leroux's book, when Christine rips his mask off, and he ridicules himself by saying he's Don Juan. It was a good thing that the wretched girl was nowhere to be seen! Oh, I was so glad!

"Girl!"

My mind snapped back to the present upon hearing him address me, and my mind's eye cleared of how I had envisioned him before, replaced by his tangible self, standing authoritatively with his head turned to the side. Perhaps he was sounding rather impatient because he had addressed me earlier without getting a reaction from me?

I hummed slightly in affirmation in a slight stupour, and then he continued.

"Why don't you take that to the dining-room; I trust you know where it is."

Now, why would I know that?


	22. Erik: Captivating Captive

**A/N: Teehee. Erik is very elusive and difficult to write. He keeps whipping his cape about and vanishing on me. Oh well, I hope you guys enjoy.**

**Homediamond: Wouldn't you like to know : )**

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* * *

Captivating Captive**

**Erik**

Having had some time on my hands before retrieving my load of perishables and such from the usual place of the entry-way beyond the gates of the Rue Scribe entrance, I was able to obtain more information about that mystery maiden with the voice of a seraph…

Christine Daäé had been a student of the Conservatoire nearby for three years and this was her first time auditioning; I then remembered that surname from somewhere…

_Ah yes, Daäé…_

That was the name of a violinist in the Orchestra years before, until his abrupt death from pneumonia, according to the gossip amongst the cast and crew. His full name escaped me, my mind too caught-up in thoughts of this young woman who was his only child. Such a lovely voice she had! Though it lacked something besides the training, as though her soul was bleeding into the notes – she had been singing with such sorrow-filled tone, producing melodies of disturbing emptiness.

I needed to find a way to reach out to her…to make a connection, and to help her see the gift she had. If only I could figure out how… no, not just to get rid of Carlota; I deeply wanted to understand what caused her such sadness, to see what was causing that void – the hollowness I could feel resonating in her song… it almost seemed like when she was singing… it was to me…

But for now, I was stuck having to deal with this little wench!

As I stood halfway in the doorway of my dining-room, I watched my _guest_ unpack the small wicker basket of food wrapped in white and green checkered linen from the paper bag I had brought back. Not quite seeing what was presently before me due to my sight being blurred by visions of the young woman I had seen on stage, I could barely even smell the food now openly wafting from my dining-table. Then again, food had never been an enticing thing for me.

Before I realized that the girl was staring at me again, I had begun to fidget with my cufflinks. Just as I could feel the anger stirring in the pit of my stomach from assuming another person's usual, reflexive preoccupation with my mask, she spoke, her eyes filled with genuine inquiry:

"If I can't address you as…by that name…then how am I to address you?"

_Again, she acts as though she has the right to converse with me, freely as some neighbour, or an old friend! Ha!_

I wasn't sure what came over me then, except that I felt a deep rage well up inside my chest. How dare she think she could be so informal with her captor! Perhaps I could have handled it all better, if I hadn't been so affected by hearing that angel!

"Do not address me as _anything_, Mademoiselle!" I spat at her irritably, storming off in my fury, leaving her standing awkwardly in my dining-room, as I went to take refuge in the only room that remained my sanctuary, slamming the door behind me.

_What was I thinking, bringing a stranger to my home?_

Even if she resembled someone out of a distant dream, she could prove to be a danger to my identity. How long could she have known about me?

_On top of everything, her presence irritates me!_

So often I had pondered my loneliness and how on occasion, I craved companionship of non-existent friends and family. But as it remained at this moment, solitude was highly underrated.

Immediately, I sat down in front my organ and ran my fingers over the comforting keys, until my rapid breathing slowed and I was capable of coherent thought as to what I would do next. Yes, I would escape to the world of my music.

_The only beauty that is blind to ugliness!_

After a few tiring hours of working on my Don Juan, I leisurely re-emerged from my room, to find the girl seated on the settee, rocking back and forth, trance-like, her arms wrapped about her knees. She was chewing on her bottom lip, with a couple of fingers anxiously looping tendrils of her light brown hair. Perhaps it had been the effects of my composition…

Through the doorway straight ahead, I could see the table, where the food appeared to be untouched, in the form I had last seen it, but it had no doubt cooled significantly.

As soon as she realized my presence, her head snapped up and she straightened as though I had disrupted her boredom, looking rather…grateful, or…happy…that I was there. It had to have been the former… Still, I stood by my door, cautiously keeping my distance. Something inexplicable would come over me if I got too close…

"Did you not eat?" I inquired, eyeing her suspiciously.

As appreciative as she appeared to be, she did shake her head rather calmly for a hungry individual.

"I thought it would be rude."

This time I was the one to stare at her, before blinking once in dismay.

_Rude?_

Why on earth would such a thing trouble her? This sense of courtesy was virtually new to me, but I was even more confused as to why such a thing would matter to her. Again, I had the strangest sense that she was behaving as though she knew me…and that perhaps, my identity _was_ safe after all, but I was still left, wanting to know from where my familiarity with her had come.

"The food _was_ for _you_." I said this coolly, not wanted to sound as though having brought it had been a favour.

She smiled then, oddly enough, and I thought that a slight blush made its way onto her cheeks.

Yes, obviously, I had failed in my intent to seem unaffected by my captive's needs; these conditions were new to me. I was hardly prepared for such circumstances!

"That…was very kind of you. Thank you."

These words rendered me speechless for a long moment as I stood frozen from the warmness in her eyes and I glared at her, practically drinking in what appeared to be sheer affection in her smile.

My mind was boggled, numb from shock and disbelief. Not only was she behaving as though our acquaintance was familiar, but that there was nothing strange or out of place about the existence of my mask, as I had observed before.

After but a split-second hesitation, she got up and went to the dining-room. It was only a moment later that I stood against the dining-room door-frame nearest to my bedroom, watching her with a slight fascination as she gingerly spread the corners of the linen, to reveal the not-so-freshly baked morsels of duck and the now soggy roasted potato wedges.

"Do you…have any plates?" She asked, appearing rather uncertain, belatedly lifting her eyes to look in my direction, though not straight at me this time. Without a word, still caught in the absurdity of our situation, I lifted a finger to gesture toward the cabinet that took up an entire length of the farthest wall.

Such a bizarre scene, I continued to think, while watching the girl lean down to fetch a plate from beneath the surface of liquor bottles, like some domestic setting about which I had always wondered and for which I had always hopelessly yearned. Then it dawned on me…

_There is a woman in my home!_

If she had been looking in my direction, and had I been without my mask, she would have seen me deepen in shade as well, to that thought.

Upon retrieving some utensils and one of my maroon cloth napkins from the said cupboard along with the china, she sat down and served herself a modest portion. Slowly and quietly as mouse, she began to eat, barely lifting her eyes up to look up at the masked man watching her. Ironically, all of this went on rather normally, as though it was any other household scene, while, against my better judgment, I now observed my _visitor_ with enthralled interest.


	23. Julian: The Willing Pawn

**A/N: No, I did not have to stray from my plot for this chapter, but I thought I would be kind and treat those asking about Julian to a chapter about him. Sorry, there's no Julian/June interaction in this chapter, but I guarantee one in the chapter to follow. It's going to be very good, that's all I will say about that : ) **

**Thank you to all who reviewed (OMG it's 1am again).****

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The Willing Pawn**

**Julian**

All too often, I was tempted to appear before them, and to show June what Erik really was – no different that any other human walking the Earth, whether it be the twenty-first century or the nineteenth. Like any other man, he would cower to the sight of me, and shrink from the essence of omnipotence that I was! Yet, she admired him and paid him endless compliments which, in my opinion, were wasted, because he was incapable of recognizing them for what they were.

What was it that June saw in this creature? Yes, his deformity made him unique, and perhaps his impressive but mortal inclinations in many fields too, but so much of what he was, had come out of the life he had chosen. Of course, a mortal living in solitude would prove to strengthen and hone many skills;

…_talent is a state of the mind, and not a gift from birth!_

But this Erik's life went no further than an act he had chosen to play, that he was now stuck with it – that this, was the source of the sympathy for millions of humans who knew his story. Oh, pity the ugly, ingenious man that loved the beautiful, naïve woman! How tragic it was, to be pathetic! How irritating humans could be!

And no doubt, his 'unnatural' voice came from his lack of nose. So then why was it that June thought she was in love with this thing of a man? And why was I back to pondering the reason behind my aggravations with that? Why should this matter to me? And why could I not stop watching her as she pretended to be dramatically lovesick from daydreams and images of this masked fool?

If his intelligence had served him well, he would have known that what he sought was an impossible feat! And anyone claiming that they could love him with such features could easily make proclamations without having to prove anything! Even beings of sorcery know the nature of human beings, and that it was common knowledge in the Universe, that they would have a long way to come. Too much hypocrisy; not enough wisdom, was always the Humans' downfall.

Even in the awkwardness of the situation my June had created with her captivity, she was still able to gawk at him, and draw images of him in her mind, while he thought of another. Temptation is funny that way – it affects the mortal and immortal alike… it had occurred to me to show her the truth in a dream. The truth of what was in his heart and mind, and I wanted it to hurt. No, not so that she would be in pain, but rather…

…_so that she could be comforted? Why would I…?_

Perhaps what stopped me was the knowledge that she would overlook this fact as a hiccup, because somewhere in her heart, she believed she had a chance to win this little game.

But really, what she believed about this game didn't matter to me, because that had little influence on the outcome!

Truthfully, I was curious to see how far June could go. She had numerously sworn that she could love the real man. Deep inside, she felt that she could overcome any strife, including whatever obstacles were served by the primitive society of two hundred years prior, she had only read about.

The deformity of a man who called himself the Phantom, could not understand my little June and her strange fascination with him. His lack of faith in her kindness and constant mental-obsessing about his mask was rather tedious to witness, though somehow I took comfort in viewing the scene with the two of them, only because June's thoughts tended to be rather amusing.

_Oh my sweet, unsuspecting little June! You think I have abandoned you? Ah, but perhaps you merely wish that I would? You think that you should fear me? Yes, you are right, you should fear me, for I am easily provoked and have power far beyond your imagination! Soon, little human, you shall see!_

June's ghostly companion became braver over the course of the next day and a half. And to my great dissatisfaction, he grew in conversation as well, even if their exchanges were brief. Careful not to anger or upset him, June seemed to always know what to do or say at the exact moment, and managed to gain his trust, slowly, little by little, hour after hour. It greatly vexed him that she never referred to inquired about his mask; this sensitive topic was very suavely avoided on the young woman's part.

It was a faint glimmer of something that I caught in his mind one night, as he watched June sleep on his settee. It was in passing thought, that I wondered how he saw her. Could he see the shade of her hair? The velvet shine of her skin? The hopeful, softness in her eyes when she would look at him? And that smile on her lips as she slept…

…_does he know that she is dreaming of him?_

Why was he watching her like that? I could have read his mind, though it was some unseen force that held me back. It was a part of me that was fading from existence; a part of the old Julian, who never would have found beauty in a puny human.

He spent some time pacing, and some more time seated in that chair across from her sleeping form, watching her with a glass of brandy in his hand. When she woke up with her usual brain-cramp, he went rigid from the realization that he wanted to help her, and that what it entailed was inappropriate. He refused to be something more or other than her captor…for now.

For a prisoner, she had many liberties; she was given permission to read his books when he was nearby, and he would sit and watch her eat. It was out of curiosity, he convinced himself, and really, what else could it have been? Little to his knowledge, June was not reading his book while he was near her (as she pretended); nor did she mind his company during meals…

_And to think, all of this was achieved by breaking my rules!_

But perhaps the icing on the my pet's cake, as the saying goes, was when Le Fantôme had a brilliant idea that he no longer had to disappear into his room, and seclude himself from willing company.

For a long moment, the masked man had been pathetically standing by his bedroom door, unable to decide which path to take. It was only until he looked at June that he was stuck, because as soon as she smiled at him tentatively in her soft way, it nudged him in a certain direction…

It was in such a disappointing direction, in fact, that the frozen air in the Phantom's lair soon began to thaw, from a simple, straight-forward question he asked:

"How are you at chess?"


	24. Erik: The Games Begin

**A/N: I'm so sorry! I lied. That is, I didn't mean to! I had another chapter planned for Chapter 24, but with feedback from a reviewer (Thank you ever2green!), I realized that something needed clarification. I will be posting the previously mentioned chapter very soon, so don't be sad :) Well, hope this fills in a few gaps etc. Enjoy!****

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The Games Begin**

**Erik**

Chess had always been a comfort to me. Back in Persia, I would use it as a constant diversion from the endless flow of blood, the reckless and spineless betrayal among comrades, and the half-naked women of the harem that would gawk at me with loathing and disgust reflected in their eyes. It also kept those recurring nightmares away – with half-dead or rotting corpses following me, relentlessly pulling on my clothes and my mask. Playing it alone meant never having to think too much about anything else.

_With a bit of morphine in your system, it becomes even more of a challenge!_

Here at the Palais de l'Opéra, on rare occasion when My Conscience would come for a visit, he would use a game of chess as an excuse to stay for a bit to be my watch-dog, and we would discuss, with hesitance and reservation, everything from the ridiculous trends of current fashion, to our dark past; the grayish present and a hopeful, iridescent future.

Of course, there always remained something sinister unsaid, possibly from years ago, lingering above our heads, that neither one of us wished to acknowledge because then we would both remember what we wished to forget; any faint hint of our past must have frightened the Daroga to the same extent that it exceedingly bored me.

It was doubtless that my death was his hopeful future.

Indeed, death was _my_ iridescent future; so much so, that I would sometimes daydream about it – only to awaken, drained and disillusioned. Although most recently, something within me had shifted.

What was once a faded, cracking, empty shell of a ghost was now a living, breathing thing, filled with ecstasy, with an emerging consciousness quivering from the familiar sensation that only music had the power to stir.

And now I was proven wrong for having wished for my death, because it was my iridescent future that had come in the form of a lost young woman, needing some guidance, who could sing away my sorrows!

Yes, that was why I had taken leave of my senses! Or, they had taken leave of me, ha!

It was all because I had heard that magnificent voice, and completely unlike myself, I, with my twisted lips, could not stop smiling like a buffoon. So, this was what _hope_ and _optimism _felt like?

Mere days ago, such behaviour on my part would make me think that I had crossed that shimmering thin line between sanity and madness!

_Did I ever truly know sanity?_

Certainly, many times I had danced on this thin line, even bowed beyond it, but was this a definite step into a realm I held nearby for the comfort of sporadic escape? Then again, perhaps I was simply so desperate for distraction from these hopeful thoughts that toying with my "guest" would prove ideal in any case.

_Yes! If I could get her to trust me, perhaps she will reveal her source about Erik so he can resolutely cut out the bastard's wagging tongue!_

As I glanced up to look across the chess board at the girl's expectant but sheepish expression in the dancing light of my fire place, I was fully convinced that my plan would work. Not only that, but perhaps I could reap some benefits from this girl's attitude toward me; as new and foreign as this treatment was to me, it felt strangely natural and addictive at the same time. Perhaps…perhaps she did _not_ know everything about me?

_Does she not know what is beneath the mask?_

The first game was mostly in silence, the end of which we were approaching rather quickly, and I could tell that she was quite preoccupied with her thoughts, as her lack of concentration on the game was evident. It rather humoured me when she reached over to one of her pieces, eyeing me to see my reaction, obviously unsure of what she was doing.

"Do you actually _know_ how to play, Mademoiselle?"

To my dry tone, her hand settled back into her lap and she pursed her lips, avoiding eye contact, "Of course I do! I'm…just a bit nervous, that's all."

If I hadn't been wearing a mask, she would have seen me raise a brow, "Nervous? Why is that?" My tone was deceitfully gentle.

When she looked up, it appeared that the meaning behind my words had startled her, although she examined my mask as naturally as if it had been my face.

_Not once has she said anything about it…_

"You are wondering what is beneath?" Without gesturing to the mask, she knew to what I was referring. But did she know that it was bait? Would she take it by allowing me to put those words into her mouth?

Considering my question, she continued to gawk at it, and then shook her head slowly, her thoughtful glance locking with my questioning one. In the same minute that this reaction surprised me, she elaborated to the contrary:

"Well, maybe. But not as much as you think…" Quickly, she cleared her throat, no doubt having seen a flash of something threatening in my eyes – what I felt then, mirrored by them. I grew quite tense in but a brief moment, before her next words caused me relief, "But I know why you wear it."

_She knows! What does she _not_ know?_

I wanted to ask her what she knew about the wretched, hidden deformity, but immediately thought better of it – this was hardly an ideal topic of conversation. The less it was discussed, the safer it was for both of us, and the more likely it was that she could eventually leave.

_But before I can have my solitude back, I need to pull as much information out of her as possible!_

When my attention returned to my chess opponent, her eyes were on my own, unfocused and unseeing, apparently lost in her thoughts. No, I wasn't mistaken; she _was_ familiar from somewhere… but…from where? Everything about her was, from the way she turned her head, to how she blinked… and yet I was left wondering… and greatly yearned to know the reason!

Looking for a reason to pull her back to reality, I found one from a glimpse at the board. Ever so dramatically, following a sigh and a slight shift of my Queen, I declared our first game's inevitable outcome:

"Check mate."


	25. June: Rare Conversation

**A/N: This is just the first half of a giant chapter that I will post. The second part is coming either tonight or tomorrow night. Well, I hope you enjoy and Julian is just peeking around the bend : )****

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****Rare Conversation**

**June**

Most of the meals were spent in silence and I was the only one to ever eat. How he had enough energy to haunt was beyond me. Perhaps he ate when I was asleep? If not, it made no sense. Yes, I knew he barely ate…but when exactly was that?

"I gather your dreams did not involve cleaning dressing rooms?"

This had been a rather blunt question of him to ask, especially out of the blue. And being quite ill-prepared for him to say anything during meals, I had then choked rather noisily on a pickled egg.

Once he uneasily asked if I was all right (to which I briskly nodded), using a rather mockingly playful tone, I said, no, it actually had _not_ been my dream and even inquired as to whether he knew anyone with whom this was to the contrary.

In response to my sardonic reply, he gracefully leaned back in his chair, crossing his long, elegant arms and looked down his mask's nose at me, eyeing me thoughtfully with those beautiful, golden orbs.

Strange how over the course of the next few days he was asking more and more questions… and did I dare to think, he was becoming more pleasant?

It irked me not to know the answers to all the mysteries surrounding Erik…and I tried not to take it personally that I was forbidden to call him by name. Throughout the days, it was _Monsieur this_ and _Mademoiselle that._ Being so formal and courteous was very interesting indeed – this being between a captor and a prisoner and all.

Of course, every morning I would awaken to a blinding pain that cut through my brain like two hands wringing something dry. It was a constant reminder that Julian was _patiently_ waiting for my return, prepared for an uncertain confrontation. What I _did_ know was that my options were limited and that he was contemplating of a way to punish me for all the rules I had broken. No, I didn't know, I could feel it, through a bond we shared, through this evil deal that had linked us.

On the morning of the fourth day, however, it was a little easier to forget about the throbbing, because upon my vision clearing, I found a wonderful surprise – Erik's heavy, velvet cloak was covering me! The Phantom really had no idea how enormous of a comfort it was and how much it consoled me! So much so, that I was in a worry-free zone, all the way up until he gestured for us to sit down and play yet another futile game of chess.

Between moves, I could sense him looking up at me, almost as though he wanted to catch me staring at him. Even though I yearned to look at up and absorb as much as possible, I was very careful not to observe him for too long, lest he think I had an insatiable curiosity of some sort for his face. Maybe it had something to do with what I admitted to…?

But I wasn't really curious – was I? Of course I was! But it didn't mean I would ever do what Christine had done in the book. Or…would do?

Again I wondered what had become of Christine and when she would be due on the scene. And oh God, I hoped I would never meet her…I vowed that such an encounter would be worse for her than for it would be for me!

"You appear to be frustrated," the Phantom commented wryly, obviously reading the sour expression on my face. Looking up at him, I realized that indeed, my face had shown my thoughts when they drifted about Christine and her nasty, inconsiderate actions.

Though maybe I was being unfair, since she hadn't actually done anything…yet.

Was I merely distracted or…was this just not my game? Board games were my game. Monopoly was my game. Other silly little games were my game. Perhaps not chess… Memories drifted back into my mind's eye – ones with me and my dad playing chess; I had always been too impatient to ever complete an entire game with him. Maybe I was too young to learn…

"I'm not very good at this." I conceded.

And in a matter-of-fact tone, he replied without losing a beat, "Evidently so."

"Thank you." I grumbled barely above a whisper, what little of my tone was audible, laced with my own brand of sarcasm. Four days in his company had made me rather brave! So much so that I was giving the Phantom attitude!

To my utter surprise, all Erik did was whiff out some air in amusement – the evident twinkle of which could be deciphered in those orbs that tended to change colour according to his mood. Truly, I was glad that it had been a while since they had appeared wild with fury!

When my attention returned to the board, I realized that it was my turn, and I sighed, sounding much too resigned.

"Who was it that taught you to play chess, Mademoiselle?"

My chest constricted slightly before I forced it to release, "My father."

"Perhaps he hasn't finished his instruction."

Without thinking, I reacted. "Seeing as he left my mom and me when I was ten, no, he didn't." I didn't know what had come over me, and this time my statement followed his own without hesitation and it managed to throw him off into a momentary silence.

He made no response, but barely removed his hardened glare from my eyes, and reached to move his bishop into a threatening spot. Then, lifting both elegant hands to form an arch in front of him, and it seemed, he calculatingly entwined his long, graceful fingers.

_Oh, he _so_ know he's going to win this one!_

As I reached tentatively toward a piece I had been eyeing since before his move, a soft voice purred into the silence, completely distracting me.

"So, Mademoiselle," Erik began in a rather haughty tone, "how long have you resided in Paris?"

"Uh…just a little over a month." Finally, I moved my chess piece, feeling rather satisfied with the decision.

"What was your reason for coming?" Without blinking, he moved his Bishop, knocking the very same piece aside.

Exasperatedly shocked, I could barely answer him. "I came…to visit someone…so to speak."

He tipped his head, just slightly, and continued to eye me. "A relative?"

_Uh…no_

"Not really."

"A friend?"

_Sigh…I wish!_

Just as I opened my mouth to speak, though unsure of what I was going to say, the small clock on his mantle chimed four times.

_Saved by the Bell! I love that cliché right now!_

Standing smoothly before me, he reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a golden timepiece, flipping it open to give it a glance.

"As much as you appear to be enjoying this game, Mademoiselle, I regret to inform you that it's time for you to get ready for Chorus rehearsal."

In complete silence and standing as still as a statue, he watched the series of reactions that were clearly reflected on my face:

First, the confusion.

Then, the realization.

And finally, the implication.

"You…got me into the Chorus?"

Still he said nothing, but merely glared at me with a soft twinkle in his eyes.

Too happy to think of hiding how I felt from this news, I sprang to my feet, and proceeded to hop up and down giddily before, by reflex, capturing his torso and pinioning his arms with my own.

It was when his frame went rigid that I realized the rashness of my actions. Slowly, with cautious movements, I stepped away from him, just slightly and removed my arms from his person.

His breathing had apparently quickened, and I could tell that his eyes were enlarged behind the mask. Still, his gaze didn't leave me.

"I'm sorry!" I whispered sharply, looking up at him with apologetic eyes, and for a tense moment neither one of us moved or said a thing. He must have recovered, the shock having worn off then, I gathered, because he sighed and even blinked…

Expecting him to step back, he just stood there, looking down at me, and in turn, I stared back up at him, tears threatening to form in my view. Lost in the trance that was cause by his wonderful gaze, I finally managed to muster my gratitude:

"Thank you, Monsieur!"

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**Hm... I wonder whether I'll get any reviews... (inconspicuously gesures at little blue-ish botton at the bottom left side of the screen)**


	26. June: Beyond More Boundaries

**A/N: Sorry, sorry, sorry. A million times sorry. Here's another chapter to keep you until Julian comes. This chapter got too long after some additions and I had to chop it in half. I'm almost done with the second half and I'll be posted as soon as possible. Well, anyway, enjoy!**

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**Beyond More Boundaries**

**June**

It was an everyday gesture, that I had always taken for granted, but apparently, the affect of it on Erik had been quite profound. I should have known better. I should have been more careful.

_But I'm so happy!_

After the hug-fiasco of appreciation, he slowly turned on his heels, breaking our awkward, locked gazes and disappeared into his room. The door shut quickly behind, leaving me to my befuddled thoughts, blinking dumbly in the midst of his drawing-room.

Left alone, I began yet another mental conversation with myself as I paced in front of the lit fireplace, unable to decide whether to let my arms hang or to fold them.

_Great, June. You've caused a moping episode!_

_It was just a hug!_

_A hug that is inappropriate even if he were a friend! Did you forget that it's 1881?_

_It must have slipped my mind. I really hope this doesn't affect me being in the Chorus!_

_Good God, June you're so selfish!_

_Am not! My time is running out!_

_Well why do you think you're even here? To be in the Chorus?_

_No, to meet Erik_

_Well?_

_Well what?_

_What's more important, Erik or the Chorus?_

_They both are! Oh my God, he got me into the Chorus!_

_Yes, so be grateful!_

_Yes, that's why I hugged him!_

_Something tells me Julian is going to have a fit!_

_Oh God. How many rules have I broken?_

_Oh…just a couple. No biggie…_

_Geez, you don't even know what the consequences are for breaking ONE. But two?_

_Well whatever the cost, it's just double!_

_You can't really die twice, can you?_

_Oh God, could the price be my life?_

_Could be, you weren't paying a whole lot of attention when he listed the rules!_

_It was boring! Plus, Erik was distracting me!_

_Yes, I know, with his mere presence._

_Oh, isn't he beautiful?_

_Oh, yes._

Just as the two sides of my mental dialogue came to an understanding, Erik's door opened and in a cool, reserved air, he walked out, his attention focused solely across the room on the entrance to his home.

Stopping for a moment when he reached me; with a lengthy, pondering side-glance, his pleading but ominous eyes bore into me as he spoke rather stiffly in a gentle yet chillingly hollow tone, once taking in a steeling breath through the nose of the mask.

"_Never_ do that again, Mademoiselle."

_No calling you Erik. No hugs. Got it._

It was only when I nodded in affirmation that his eyes left mine, and while purposely averting his glance from my face he commanded me to turn around.

"Why?" I inquired, unintentionally sounding rather cheeky.

"I need to blindfold you." The Phantom replied, matter-of-factly.

I was just about to pose another question but he smoothly interceded in a nonchalant manner, "Unless you _prefer_ the chloroform, though you may have some trouble concentrating at rehearsal with its remnants in your system."

My jaw dropped at his flippant remark, as I glared at his non-expressive mask in disbelief. To my unseen enjoyment, ever so gracefully, he tipped his head, as though genuinely waiting for me to make my choice. Sighing in resignation, I turned around; daring a slight rolling of my eyes only because I knew that he wasn't looking.

As his fingers worked with the soft cloth over my eyes, a scent-combination of leather and something dizzyingly musky hit my nose; I couldn't help myself but smile. When he tied the material behind my head, some hairs were pulled ever so slightly, the tickle sending pleasant prickles up my neck.

In that second I found myself wondering where that "smell of death" had gone…?

_Okay, so there were certain advantages to being blindfolded by the Phantom, _I mused as he grasped the crook of my arm and led me toward what I assumed was the exit.

Identifying the sliding sound to be that of his front door swinging open, I hesitated for only a moment before he tugged on my elbow in a silent, authoritative signal for me to keep following him.

We momentarily stopped and he removed his grasp from me to bend down to pick up something that sounded like metal being dragged on stone. When a small light was ignited ahead of me – the soft hue of which I could barely see through the material covering my eyes – which I recognized to be a lantern. With the light held high in front of me at a distance in his upheld hand, I once again felt his firm grasp around my forearm and we moved onward.

Sure, it wasn't as romantic as having his hand holding mine like the character does in the musical, but had it been so, with my over-limited sense of sight, such a situation would have had disastrous consequences, i.e., having me trip on anything that included my own feet, and falling flat on my face. And that was definitely something my already bruised dignity could do without.

_This means I shouldn't fake a trip either…as tempting as the thought is…_

We walked this way for quite some time, mostly spent in our usual silence. There was so much that I yearned to ask him and it just dawned on me that this could very be the last time I see him! A surge of disappointment went through me when I realized that I had now lost my chance.

"I know you were my captor but you were a gracious host, nonetheless."

_That sounded dumb._ Rightly so, he didn't say a single word; I just _felt_ his glare of incredulity.

_Just shut up June. You're not helping._

Surely this wasn't the end of our acquaintance! What was going to happen? Would it have been inappropriate of me to ask if I could see him again?

_Yes_, replied that wise little voice in my mind.

After about ten minutes or so of walking through a maze of stairs and corridors that seemed to twist and turn randomly, we stopped and he released my arm.

"Can I remove it now?"

I was almost expecting him to say no, because I hadn't recalled a boat ride among many things. But to my surprise he confirmed that we had arrived at our destination.

The light was now completely gone and pitch blackness greeted my eyes, except for two golden-glowing eye slits above me.

_How does he do that?_

One day I would ask, if ever I had the opportunity…

Evidently he had extinguished the lantern though I sensed that we were now standing in a nook of some sort. With the floating eyes disappearing, Erik's cloak swept me in the shoulder before I heard a soft click and a crack of light revealed itself directly in front of us.

Without warning, Erik's tickling breath danced upon my cheek as he whispered into my ear. "Beyond is the gate and exit to Rue Scribe – you can leave the premises without anyone seeing you."

Recomposing myself briefly from this sudden proximity, I was about to reluctantly lay a step to go beyond that crack, when abruptly, his steel-tight grip enclose around my wrist, and I nearly gasped while being jerked back toward the nothing but the flaming eyes in the darkness. For a mere second, my other hand landed on his chest but I pulled it away, knowing fully well that it would offend him.


	27. June: Double Threat I

Double Threat

**Double Threat I**

**June**

"There is a _condition_ to your freedom," he began in my ear again, while I watched the thin line of light move across his shifting shape as well as my hand that he was holding, "you will return when I send for you."

It seemed he was finished speaking but did not move to release me. I listened to him breathe, savouring his ragged breath against my skin as my heart pounded loudly in my ears from pure excitement. What did danger matter when he was so close?

Then, to my delight, he pulled me threateningly closer and continued, "If you do _not_ come when the I send for you," he whispered harshly, now developing a menacing hiss and when I shivered in pleasure he took it as cue to continue, "I will know you have betrayed me and there won't be any safe place for you to hide from the Opera ghost!"

_If only I could tell you that threats are far from necessary!_

My breath shook noticeably, passing onto my voice but I was sure he felt the confidence in my heartfelt words: Without pulling away from him, I vowed that I would never betray him and that when he was to send for me, I would return as he wished it!

_What obsessed fanatic wouldn't? Poor Erik, if he only knew!_

Suddenly, as if in reaction to this last thought, his leather-clad hand released its hold as though my skin was scorching to his touch. Then all too quickly, he turned and left, effortlessly disappearing back into the blackness from which we had come. It was then that I happily realized the lantern had been simply for my benefit.

No doubt it was to my advantage that he had been unable to see my star-struck eyes filled with the immense longing…the longing that I could feel welling up inside my chest which now had a small taste of being fulfilled by his demand.

_He wants me to come back!_ And that was all that mattered….

And I would return, unless of course I was to pay with my life for breaking a couple of tedious rules…in which case, what else was there?

Placing both hands on the stone surface in the darkness in front of me, I pushed the wall to pivot open and peeked out. The entrance itself seemed to be the back of a supply closet, I gathered as my hand caught a bucket that had nearly fallen in my path. When I opened the door to let in some light, I threw a glance backward to find that any sign of the secret passage had vanished.

How Erik managed to make all of these passages just amazed me.

First, I needed to get my coat, which meant I had to go back to the cleaners' room located near the main dressing rooms by the stage…

As I was about to traverse the great hall of the building, I realized that I hadn't seen a mirror in at least three days (my hair was probably a mess), and I was now feeling in desperate need of a shower. Not to say that I smelled…

_Yes, I do smell and that's probably why Erik let me go…_

The thought of a boiling, hot shower was so alluring that I sighed in ecstasy at the memory. Washing with freezing cold water when getting home was not something I could look forward to. Well, there _was_ an evil sorcerer (boiling with fury) waiting for me and I would have taken ten freezing cold showers, rather than be forced to face him!

_Maybe he'll stay away because I stink. One can only hope._

Luckily there was no one about to look upon my disheveled state, as I went about gleefully from the knowledge that I was no longer a cleaner, even with the stress of what was awaiting me. While grabbing my coat from the cleaners' room, along with my other belongings from my little cabinet that included books, newspaper clippings with any mention of my beloved ghost and miscellaneous Opera programmes, I gathering courage for my short walk "home".

It was late autumn daylight that greeted me when I stepped outside, cringing to the touch of a chilly breeze on my face. The sun wasn't setting yet, though it was preparing for the finale, sitting low in the sky, just above the highest structures I passed. And the air, oh, I hadn't realized before now, how much I missed fresh air, and how much I had taken it for granted in all my years of being alive…

_I wonder how often Erik actually takes walks? Perhaps he tends to perch near Apollo's shoulder to watch sunsets?_ I smiled softly to myself at the image.

_Just another block to go…_

If I hadn't had rehearsals, I would have procrastinated forever, so that I didn't have to go home. Then again, perhaps if I hadn't had rehearsals, Erik wouldn't have released me? Why had he gotten me into the Chorus? Was it supposed to be a friendly gesture?

_Or is it a bribe to keep his secrets?_

Erik wasn't one to bribe. He would have rightly assumed that threats alone could keep anyone under his thumb. Did I fear him? Well, I knew that he saw no reason to keep me safe – his threat was far from exaggeration. I also knew that I had managed to intrigue him with my kindness if nothing else.

Leaving one threat, I was about to walk into another one, creepier and dangerously sinister… Once again it occurred to me that I didn't _know_ it – but rather, _felt_ it, like the presence of peering eyes. This invasive sensation was far too familiar by this point and I was so sick of it that it verged on nausea. Or was it the cause of my nerves, which were completely on edge?

Feeling strangely calm when I arrived at the front door, it was still disturbing to notice though, how horribly my hand shook as I reached up to unlock it. With limbs that were close to buckling on me, I ventured inside and mounted the stairs, finding the house to be comfortingly desolate.

My dream from the garden came rushing back, its horrible images jumping at me and all at once I felt the desperate urge to flee, but I dreadfully knew it would be pointless. There was no place to hide from a Being of sorcery… Had it been from the _dream_ that I knew that? Or did I _sense_ it, like Julian's eyes prying into my life before I even knew of him or even imagined his kind existed?

The bedroom door opened smoothly without a sound beneath my hand, and cautiously, I peered inside to inspect the dim space I hadn't seen in days. Someone had closed all the curtains, giving the place an eerie atmosphere, accentuated greatly by the small, glowing gas lamp set on the writing desk. Could this have been Julian's handiwork done with a slight wave of his ever-powerful hand?

_Okay, you can do this! Just go inside…_

At this point, my entire body trembled as I forced it to move into the room. The most frightening thing was the unknown; not knowing what my fate would be, and the suspense of when I could expect to be enlightened. Would it be painful? Would it be permanent?

Once inside, I closed the door slowly behind me, and leaned on it for support. Without moving my head, I searched the entire empty space that was occupied by nothing but mere inanimate objects, yet a chill ran up my spin, bringing goose-bumps to form on my entire body.

_He's here, I know it._

Mustering enough courage to push away from the door, I took one large step away from it-

"Why, if it isn't my little June?"


	28. June: Double Threat II

**A/N: Oh gees, it's been more than a month since I've updated... and this really doesn't count, as it's just a rehash of the second part of chapter 27. You see, I had to rewrite a part of it in order to get over my writer's block caused by my dissatifaction with how I wrote it to begin with. Nothing much has changed with the events, but now, I think it's more believable. So sorry to have to backtrack slightly - I hope it's not too distracting. But I really wanted it to work... and it took some time to realize this. Nothing much has changed in "Double Threat I", though I had to split it up because it was getting way too long.**

**Anyway, feel free to rant about your disappointment :) though I will be updating (with a new chapter I'm working on now) within the next day or two. In the mean time, this is all I can post. Sorry it's not...a new chapter.**

**I will be back to regular and timely updates from this point onward :)**

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Double Threat II

**June**

The chillingly familiar voice that came from directly behind froze me with fear as it made my blood run cold. Trembling uncontrollably now, with closed eyes, I tried to muster my courage as I turned around to face the source of the past few days' fears. After gasping from his close proximity, I forced myself to look up at him.

There he stood, close enough to touch, in all his perfection, his astoundingly dark eyes glimmering with strange emotion; their burning intensity causing me to shudder as he glared down at me with a self-important air.

His hair was tied loosely behind, his dark green, velvet cloak elegantly hanging about him, its texture illuminated from the small light near him. As before, he wore a cream-coloured shirt beneath it, its thin, straight line of collar showing. Yet again, my mouth dropped open in startled awe.

_It's amazing how the sight of him affects me…_

It was his unearthly attractiveness that held my eyes as they yearned to sweep his magnificent, all-too magical features. When he took a threatening step toward me, the spell was broken and I reeled back in a slight stumble.

Circling me like a vulture once, I saw him cross his arms from the corner of my eye, giving his stance a fully imperious air before moving completely behind me. Sending shivers up my spine from the frightfully soft tone he used, he spoke into my ear, using the same cool, balefully portentous tone, "Have you nothing to say, my dearest June?"

Then, when he was in front of me again, all of a sudden I felt like a rotten child being scolded for misbehaving. Indeed I had disobeyed him but the way it had happened was untended, even if the outcome had been planned. What else was I to do? Stay in the limiting position of a cleaner for his amusement and never meet Erik?

No doubt he caught that last thought as though it was a draft wafting into his overly-perceptive, sorcerer mind. His demeanor was mesmerizing and I wondered how much of it was his doing versus the Universe's doing.

Lowering his head, he took another step toward me as his eyes swept upward before locking with mine, only to stare up at me in a deep, dark and ominous glare. My heart skipped a frightened beat when his eyes flashed crimson and I drew back another step. Looking rather pleased with himself, the small hint of a smug smile never faded from his perfect lips.

To my growing horror, he calmly followed at a leisurely pace, intent on keeping the short distance between us. I was so unbelievably frightened that I couldn't even find the words to speak. Perhaps I had lost the capability to string words together, or even to signal my brain for the movement to talk!

With each additional step I took backward, he followed with but a mere second of delay, until I could retreat no more, my thighs pressing against the edge of my bed. Nearly losing my balance, I wrapped an arm around the bedpost nearby, instinctively yearning to become one with the wood and disappear…

In truth, I was sick of becoming a coward from fear of his wrath. Really, how _dare_ he think that just because I had agreed to his terms, that I would allow him to set me up for failure? It was then, by some miracle or just from this last thought, my courage appeared, fueled from the anger simmering in the pit of my stomach, I was able to steel my nerves.

"I don't regret any of it because I did nothing wrong!" I managed to blurt out, only to receive the same look of hostility, though now it was accented with a raised brow.

"Oh no? Perhaps you fail to realize the consequences for your actions. Did it slip your human mind that by breaking my rules, the agreement between us becomes null and void?"

"What is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"It means that the deal is off."

Caught up in the panic of what that meant, I merely snorted at him, "As if! You wouldn't deprive yourself of such fun! Admit it; I've kept you entertained for past few weeks now!"

"What a shame, really," he continued calmly in a chilled tone as though I hadn't said anything, "that you were so close to befriending that pathetic human–"

"So you think that suffering is pathetic?" Inside I was fuming, as I stood with clenched fists, but my question came out serenely, though I didn't bother hiding the resentment in my eyes.

"Yes, actually I do – when it's self-inflicted."

Even as my nails dug into my palms, I was too numb from my fury to notice the pain.

"How the _hell_ is his facial deformity self-inflicted?"

"His solitude is, my dear; his self-pity is. And the fact that he chooses to wallow in it."

In reality, I should have been frightened of this powerful being before me, yet what he was saying cut through my heart and I reacted instantly by hitting him fully on the chest with my fists. "You don't know anything about him!"

At once, his hands caught my wrists and pulled me so close that our faces were almost touching, and he was looking down at me with a frightfully menacing gleam in his eyes, as he spoke barely above a whisper, through clenched teeth.

"A human should be more humble in your shoes, June. See, I have granted you an enormous aspiration, and you don't appear to be at all grateful." As Julian hissed this, and his grip tightened uncomfortably, causing me to wince as I struggled to pull my hands away.

"Grateful? Why am I supposed to be _grateful_, you pompous, _childish_ being? What you did was hardly a favour-"

"You did _not_ have to accept it." His glowing eyes narrowed at the emphasis, his grip tightening by an interval; the twinge from his grasp shooting through me.

"Well, if I had _known_ that you would be such a pain, I wouldn't have!"

To this unexpected response, he released my wrists, then eyed me as I took a small, wary step back, massaging them.

"I gather you are choosing to disobey me again by returning to him?"

Completely disregarding his question, I straightened in an effort to brace myself. "If you will excuse me, I have a rehearsal to get ready for."

As we glared at one another in complete silence, I watched the unknown emotion in his dark orbs replaced with the familiar fury I had seen in my dream three nights before. Intuitively, I wanted to flee, and turned toward the bathroom beckoning me with its open door.

It hadn't even been a full step that I proceeded to walk past him that he interceded by wrapping a hand around my throat beneath my jaw, although his touch stayed lightly against my skin. With his other hand, he caught me around the waist and somehow managed to pin both of mine behind my back. Swiftly, with the same movement, he then pulled me flush against him, and was peering down at me with seemingly cold, emotionless features. When I dared to look him in the eyes, what I found was the frightful contrast of the dark, seething emotion in them.

"I am warning you; you will _not_ go back to him."

Struggling was futile, for he held me easily to him with a frightful strength that could belong to no mere mortal; any effort I made to push away had no result. When another ache shot from my wrists and I froze, he lowered his head to whisper into my ear and I though I felt his lips graze my jaw-bone, "I have been more than patient with you; don't expect it to last."

When he pulled his head back, his face was once again next to mine, though I refused to look into his eyes, in fear of what lay there. His lips were hovering dangerously near my own, though I refused to openly acknowledge this. Instead, I concentrated on my breath, which was ragged and struggling for air.

Then, abruptly, before any other thought could come along, I felt his lips ferociously taking possession, with an incredible, fierce passion. It was a vain effort to turn my face away from his, for he held onto my jaw with ease, yet gently cradling it as he kissed me hard, without holding back. The more I fought him, the deeper, more invasive and more intense the kiss became.

Panicked from my utterly feeble predicament and in my powerless frustration, hot tears of helplessness welled up in my vision and streamed down my cheeks as I continued to resist him.

Then, as I weakened in his arms, he finished the kiss abruptly, and roughly released me onto the bed, where I sat dumbstruck, entirely drained and completely confused.

Without removing his eyes from my own, he said nothing verbally though I heard his words clearly in my mind as he backed away from the bed.

_You have only twelve weeks until your payment is due to me._

With his last three words echoing in my mind, he was already wrapped in his cloak again, shimmering away before my eyes. In the next minute, he had disappeared completely into thin air before me.


	29. Julian: Change of Heart

**A/N: Well, here it is. Enjoy.**

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**Change of Heart**

**Julian**

Even as I stood with my back to the looking-glass, I was well aware that it held the image of my stupefied June, sitting on her bed, trembling like a little leaf. Was she frightened? Yes, she was, and I couldn't help but smile at that thought. Yet, as always, a part of me didn't like it. Could it have been that I was growing bored of resorting to frightening her? It was becoming a tiresome routine.

I too, was left shaken from the incident I had created. Unsure of whether my warning had the full affect planned; kissing her had been far from my intention. It was an act of desperate frustration… Yet, was there a lack of comprehension about my actions? Indeed, I managed to convince myself that the kiss was purely out of contempt, but then why did I continue to recall what her lips felt like against my own? And why had it been so hard to rip myself away? Leaving her was becoming more and more difficult – I cursed my yearnings.

_And when will this tiresome tingling stop?_ Raising a hand to my lips, I ran a couple of light fingers over them, feeling the soft smile that still lingered there.

What was happening to me? This was a side of myself I didn't like; it resembled the character of an inferior being, struggling to understand himself. But I knew myself. As of Being of Omnipotence, it was far below me to even consider such things… June was a human – mortal, limited, powerless…as beautiful as I could see her at times… all these thoughts were nothing but futile dreams.

All too well, I was aware of the dangers involved in treading on this path. The only thing I acknowledged was that if I continued on this course I would completely lose myself. Refusing to see what lay straight ahead, I didn't want to know what was beyond the horizon. I would never need to, because I would never get there, determined to find an alternate destination.

If she were to continue breaking my rules, there would be something I had to do about it. Perhaps she forgot that she is not my equal? She was an inferior who brought up the valid point of my addiction to her.

_Yes, June, I have gotten quite addicted to having you near as a plaything. _

In any case, the most important aspect of this entire agreement was that the wish I had granted was grossly getting out of control. June was taking things for granted, it seemed, and would have to be taught a lesson…

But _how_ was what I found myself contemplating. Harming her was not an option, no – I would neglect to explore the reason, because it was irrelevant. Now, the girl seemed so intent on interacting with The Phantom, and perhaps that is where the key lay. Yes, in the most subtle of way, she would learn the costs of making bad choices.

Pensively, I was now gazing at the mirror, which showed me the man, Erik, at his organ, composing madly. What was it about him that June admired? This human was disturbingly thin, yet this didn't seem to matter to her.

In her heart, he was perfect, and she hoped that he would grow to care for her…but what if…what if he would not? What if he _could_ not? True, I _could_ very well arrange it so he didn't. Not that this mattered much either, because I was certain that because this was my game, even my rules being broken, I would still win. But what if I created a reason for her to fail? It could be…insurance, of sorts.

Delving into his mind, I wandered only for a bit before finding what I needed. Indeed, June was in his mind, but deeper yet, was someone else. The root of his hope was another shape, standing before him, singing to him with the voice of a delightful seraph.

A grin of pure satisfaction crept onto my lips. Yes, I had then found the way to avenge my broken rules. Poor June, you will soon be unhappy, but my Little One, you have to learn your lesson somehow.

Carefully, I leaned into his mind, and softly sent my thoughts, cloaking them in the guise of his own…

_Yes, Erik, you feel inspired. Can you guess why? Perhaps it is indeed that girl you met…then again, perhaps it isn't. Have you forgotten about your little angel? Could _she_ not be your inspiration? Yes, I believe your guest has not been your muse, but in fact, that girl is. Go to her, Erik. Go and watch over her, the poor thing needs you. Better yet, sing for her…Be _her A_ngel of Music!_

Amidst the harmonious and dissonant melodies floating about; through the intricate pathways of his limited, human mind they soared, appearing at first, to have no effect. Keenly, I watched him, awaiting any sign that it was taking affect. At one point he cackled to himself, and composed another three lines in a rush. Indeed, it was taking much longer than I had anticipated, for no doubt, his mind was so deeply into composing his music that all other thoughts were pressed aside.

_Or could my powers of sorcery be delayed because of this man's ingenious and complex mind? A human, more clever than an Omnipotent being? It is implausible._

Finally, to my delight, his left hand froze as he finished a note, the ink dripping from the nib of his pen. Blinkingly, the masked man glanced up, and looked about as though he heard something…perhaps a voice singing?

_Yes, follow that voice, Erik._

In a whirlwind he put his composition away, replaced his cloak to set off in search of his Christine Daäé.

Feeling rather pleased with myself, I watched him further, as he rushed to follow the siren's song, finding a crevice behind the walls of the Chorus dressing room. Finding a crack in the paneling, he lurked there, occupied by none other than the girl I would have wanted. Apparently he had amazing hearing, for indeed, she was singing as she brushed her hair.

Now this was more like it: Once again, I was observing two humans with whom I was impartial and I was fully in control. The girl kept singing, and I watched the scene unfold, only to have my smile grow to seeing Erik searching for a way to climb closer in order to hear her more clearly. Sending just a bit of courage to both, I waited patiently, as the events began to take a direction to my liking.

Christine's little voice became stronger, and more beautifully lucid to the man listening, while Erik, gained enough courage to join her in song. Both became hypnotized, approaching the single panel that separated them, until the piece came to an end and both knew where to stop.

On either side, each stood mesmerized and out of breath, staring at the panel before them in awe. Both raised a hand to touch it, and stood motionless in the trance I created. Little did they know that I would make sure they would soon be nearer to touching than that!


	30. Christine: A New Friend and an Old Enemy

****

A New Friend and an Old Enemy

**Christine**

Since having been accepted into the Chorus, once again I was seated at one of the vanities, brushing my hair, without even a second look into the dirty mirror before me. Instead of my pale reflection, my puffy eyes focused on the lower, outer edge, where a miniscule crack was forming. As of late, I have felt like that crack; unwanted, out of place and scorned by the vain Ballet Rats.

I would have been contented just to do my theory studies but Mama Valérius was worried that my vocal talent would be wasted and that Heaven would take back the gift the Angels had bestowed upon me on His behalf. She also said it would be selfish not to nurture it, and that Papa would be disappointed to see me desert Music, as he was looking down on me from Heaven and that I should desert sorrow instead, as sadness itself was a sin. And so, it was against my own preferences that I auditioned for the Chorus.

"_Ah, but you will be rich and famous, Ma Petite, you are meant for great things – I don't doubt that the Angel of Music has been watching over you,"_ the kindred old lady would tell me, tucking my hair behind my ear with a trembling, weak hand as we would never fail to stray from the book I was reading to her.

It was with the passing years after my father's death that I gradually began to hate mirrors. The reflection was always of a girl I didn't recognize, who was growing stranger as the years passed. Most of all, I avoided her cool eyes; this November marked the third year since my father ceased to walk this earth, and with the passage of time, all the more hollow and resentful I had become.

Jealousy was a sin too, yet I would sit alone, green with envy about those with better fortune. From that annoying brat Little Giry who could dance like a little Angel, or La Sorelli who had the attention of a multitude of suitors, and even that excitable, but stout Jammes, whose dancing was questionable, albeit they all seemed to be blessed with a brighter future than my own. Not that I would switch with any of them, I realized, for dancing was never my dream.

Every night, I prayed that I could be a better person. Before I fell asleep, I would always hope that the pain would go away, and that I could just be carefree again, as my heart had been before my father passed on. During his time alive, when he saw me as happy, he would say, _"Christine, you must learn how to wrap up and save your joy for rainy days, when there will be very little..."_ I wish I could have listened to him. But I've always wondered - did that mean I should have only been warily contented? Or I wasn't as grateful as I ought to have been…?

Lost in thought, I hadn't even noticed that I was just humming to myself; my small, shaky voice, the only sound in the great dressing room. Without realizing it, my lips began to form the familiar words, and I was lost in happy memories of my father seated in his rocking chair, beckoning me to join him with the loving melody at his fingertips.

In that moment, the violin's weeping timbre in my mind was replaced by a real, haunting, ghostly yet beautifully smooth singing, and gradually, the void that had started to consume me over the years, began to fill up by something golden, and soothingly warm. It was unlike anything my ears had ever heard although I recognized it to be nothing more than just another voice.

But where was it coming from? It felt as though it was all around me, embracing me, consoling me, as though it was a Heavenly Being of sorts. Could it have been…? It did, after all, know my father's folk song quite well.

Then I thought that conceivably in the midst of my sadness, I was beginning to day dream again? Surely because it contained an earthly quality too, it couldn't have been a hallucination? Then again, if it was, couldn't my mind have conjured up something more believable than a singing panel?

Was it the wall? No, at first I couldn't quite determine from where the voice was coming, though it summoned me to stand, urging me to keep singing with it. It called upon me to reach ahead as though it were standing there, and to put my arms about it. The familiar melody kept repeating, growing heavier with each note emphasized, our fervor in every note.

Unsure of how they had gotten there, my palms were now on the panel nearby; it actually felt as though heat was emanating from the very spot directly in front of me. Although my heart was racing, my mind was calm and steady, prepared to accept whatever was occurring. Something possessed me to be brave, for even as I should have been terrified, my heart knew something profound was happening…

Then, all too soon, our duet ceased and the voice and I were mute, the heavy silence stirring me out of my stupor. Falling to my sides, my hands slipped from the wall as I stared at the surface before me in disappointment. The intense emptiness returned, and a sob escaped my lips as I collapsed onto my knees. I was terribly frightened that I was losing my sanity!

This is the way another Chorister, Annette found me when she came into the dressing room. I wasn't sure at what point she had entered, or how long she watched, nor did I notice her approach to kneel beside me. It was only when she laid a soft hand on my shoulder that I jumped and spun to face her, my eyes wide with fright.

After flinchingly withdrawing her touch, the girl warily but hastily retrieved some sheets of score before she bolted from the room. Slowly, I began to remember everything, and could even recall what the voice sounded like. It roamed in my ears as I gathered my score and courage to face the quickly-approaching rehearsal time.

What was that? Whose voice was that? Was I truly going mad?

The only sign that something was amiss were the whispers that began as soon as I entered the practice hall. The Chorus members were scattered about the room, looking over the score for Faust in silence. That girl, Annette was eyeing me as she leaned in to the raven-haired girl next to her, apparently finding humour in my entrance. Both girls snickered as I meekly took a spot on the floor near a petite brunette who hesitantly smiled at me.

Opening my music, it was simple to ignore Annette and her friend, though no so much the girl next to me, who only stared in my direction as long as I was pretending not to notice. Gabriel was nowhere in sight yet, though I hoped in desperation that he would appear soon.

_Once rehearsal starts, you can forget what happened in there… Mama will know what is happening to me!_

The whispers irritably continued, and the girl next to me glance up toward Annette and her friend Julie, only to get feigned smiles before they returned their attention to the score, mockingly pointing to a particular part of the music they held as though _it_ had really been their true topic of conversation.

Where was Gabriel? And why was he late?

When I glanced back toward the girl nearby from feeling a gaze upon me, our eyes locked, and I saw something strange in hers… almost as though she was trying to decide whether Annette and Julie where rightfully being mean to me. She went on to inspect my unusually fair hair and pale skin before allowing a subtle smile to touch her lips.

Just as I thought she would speak, the entrance opened, and in walked Gabriel with another man, speaking in hushed tones, and looking positively serious. They eventually reached the piano, and the Chorus Master set his Music there, still quite solemnly enraptured by the conversation.

As soon as the two men stopped talking, I recognized the other man as the secretary to the Managers, yet I couldn't figure what could have been the reason for such grave discussion, or why…why all of a sudden the two of them were also now darkly staring at me…


	31. June: Sometimes Being Wrong is Better

**Sometimes Being Wrong is Better**

**June**

Unfortunately, my wits were so scattered from my ordeal with Julian and his strange, cryptic behaviour that the girl nearby appeared to me through a haze… not that I couldn't notice how beautiful she was…how kind her eyes were, and how graceful and dainty each and every one of her movements were.

_How is it possible for someone to be so perfect, so elegant, so dainty, so… could she be…?_

Whiffing air out in irritation, I watched as the girl approached the piano upon Gabriel's gesture to join the two of them. As hard as I tried, I could not make out what they were discussing, but the two men's skin tones matched the girl's natural pallor.

Everyone in the practice hall gave the trio intermittent glances as they studied their scores, in particular the two girls of popularity having found their prey. A slight pang in my chest signaled a twinge of guilt, though I could hardly believe why I was feeling it. Perhaps it had a lot to do with the fact that I found myself enjoying someone else's misfortune? Really, those two girls' glares were just the proverbial icing on the proverbial cake, as I noticed that the two men were looking progressively grave as they spoke with the blond girl.

Eyeing her strangely as she appeared to answer a question, one of the men, Gabriel, dismissed her then with a nod and she returned to her spot near me, giving me a vacant glimpse before opening up her score.

This time my attention returned to the men by the piano, both of whom appeared to become progressively frazzled. At one point, in the midst of their intense conversation, the Chorus Master managed to throw me odd glance, and I quickly pretended that my eyes were merely traveling in their vicinity.

Now with their backs turned, I could just barely make out that they were each holding a yellow parchment that was creased with fold marks, and they were appearing to be comparing them. The other man pointed at something, which appeared to be the wax seal, and on cue, both men's complexions drained even more of colour, if possible, and silence overtook them.

Instead they appeared to continue the conversation with their eyes, looking more and more agitated. This exchange was complete when each, in turn, nodded to the other briskly, knowingly, and the strange man left, leaving the visibly shaken Gabriel in the room.

As normally as things could possibly commence, the rehearsal started, and as though there had been absolutely nothing out of the ordinary, the Chorus Master dived right into working us. Oddly enough, he didn't notice that I hardly sang a single note. Most of the rehearsal was spent with me listening to the fair-haired girl beside me, whose voice moved with an enviable, effortless ease.

Of course she had known the piece already, but that wasn't it. There was something else….there was a poignant beauty there; a deep sadness that made its colouring revoltingly beautiful.

It had to be her. It had to be Christine… I was almost sure.

When rehearsal was done, and we had all gone back to the dressing room and its lounge, I was not the only person to notice that Christine began to gather her belongings into a paper parcel (the kind rarely seen in the twenty-first century since the invention of plastic bags).

I knew better than to be excited so soon…or wish for whatever I was hoping…

"The Management must have finally realized her mental state, poor girl," Emerged a whisper over my shoulder.

When I turned slightly, I realized it was one of the girls who had been whispering about her mockingly to her friend earlier.

My eyes swept over her shiny, raven tendrils, and Elisa's face emerged for a moment, as though it was her talking to me. How strange, that as familiar as she was, Elisa and her chocolate brown eyes were worlds away, as though it had been a different life…someone else's life perhaps. Even stranger, was that I didn't miss her.

"So, are you new?" Too wrapped up in my thought to offer her more than a nod, Elisa's brown eyes then vanished, replaced with squinting blue ones that appeared violet as if perhaps from the mean-spirited thoughts.

"Well, I am Annette; and this is Julie…" The other raven-haired girl with French braids, just a few steps behind her nodded in affirmation before Annette continued, "Our parents are avid patrons of the Opera."

In other words, they had bought their way in…Of course, not my situation was that different – auditions alone would never have been enough if the decision had been left up to my lack of vocal skill and range…

Perhaps this fact had something to do with why Gabriel had thrown me such an odd glance. In a way, Erik was a patron too – one providing ample threats and ultimatums. And notes…

_Could those folded parchments have been_–?

Just as I turned back to see what the infamous blond girl was doing now, I felt something directly in front of me – something soft that I walked into… I looked up to see who it was when I finished watching a massive amount of sheet music flitter all the way to the floor between us. By then we had both blurted apologies, eager to claim complete blame.

"Oh, I'm sorry, it's my fault!"

"Oh no, I was not watching where I was going!"

"Me either, I–" Stopping in mid-sentence, I realized it was the fair-haired girl, now extending my music which she had so hurriedly gathered along with her own. Somewhat distractedly, I thanked her, with the intention of turning to walk away…though I found I could not, when she smiled warmly and with a gentle nod of her angelic head, she introduced herself as Christine Daäé.

I so wanted to hate her. But couldn't.

Instead I just gawked. I gawked like an idiot as my mind jumped desperately to think of any cause that could prevent me from having to get acquainted with Christine…and so, I pretended that my music required the utmost attention…only to hear what sounded like childish snickers coming from Annette and Julie behind me.

Stupid me, I told her my name.

"June…as in…the month? How quaint, indeed!"

Just as I overcame the urge to give her a deadly glare, the warmth of her eyes increased tenfold, and I could see the hope building in them, "So you're new as well? I'm not as new as you are, mind you, but it's really good to see a new face," a distant smile appeared on her sweet face and I cursed myself for letting it affect me.

I had spent years hating her. I cursed her at every turn – every time I read that cursed and beautiful story, never able to understand what it could have been about her that was so special! But alas, I saw with my own eyes…she was, in fact, quite pretty. And kind. And sweet… something in my chest writhed…but just slightly. Oh God, I briefly allowed myself to hope that Erik hadn't seen her yet. If he had, I was doomed.

What _did_ time have to do with it? Had I expected him to somehow see me instead? Of course it was! Seeing how my life practically depended on it, and not just my pathetic, teenaged, infatuated heart!

I could never say how it happened, but I found myself walking beside her as we left the beautiful structure, as though, God forbid, we were friends. Maybe it was the fact that I didn't have the heart to send her packing. She seemed so alone, so innocent…so…nice.

_I so want to hate you, Christine!_ I thought as she spoke shyly, her porcelain cheeks flushed with excitement.

"…all my life, I wanted to sing! To sing and be seen! To be acknowledged and share what I feel when I sing!"

She sighed in that annoyingly dainty way and peered at me, "What about you? How did you come to join the Chorus?"

_The Phantom of the Opera signed me up._

She completely misunderstood the look on my face and prodded further, "What are your dreams, June?"

"To be accomplished in something, I suppose." Was my reply, though it was more of a realization than an answer to her question.

_Or just to survive this escapade!_

I found that when Christine stopped walking, I stopped as well, and we stood there awkwardly in silence for a moment.

"Well, I suppose we shall see each other again at the next rehearsal." She said gently as though parting ways was terribly painful for her. Well, perhaps to her it was.

My nod of agreement sent her on her way, and she briefly turned back only to wave demurely. Returning the wave absent-mindedly, my hand froze in mid-air as I watched her figure retreat in the dusky hue of sunset down the street, the remnant golden-orange rays embracing her delicate silhouette, tender curls of hair dancing off her shoulders.

The small writhing in my chest made me short of breath and I had to look away.

Well, Erik was definitely not blind. And for certain, the girl sang the way she looked.


	32. June: A Frightfully Generous Gesture

**A/N: Hey all. Well, I had to do it again. Chapter 31 got so big that I had to break it into two. This isn't an update although I added some details so it doesn't sound so choppy now. Next chapter is an Erik chapter... I'm working on it, so hopefully it can be posted either tonight or tomorrow night.**

**The below is actually the second part of Chapter 31, so once again, sorry folks. All the previous chapters were approx 1200 words, and 31 was 2600...before I added things. I HAD to split it. I don't want too many chapters, but can't have them too long. Anyway, unless you guys prefer that if I stick to the same person, it remains in the same chapter? You tell me, why don't ya.**

**Once again, sorry. In future updates, I will try to post only when I'm completely satisfied as my perfectionist side can be tedious. It's still not perfect, but much better. :)**

**Hope you guys are enjoying this story as much as I enjoy writing it...and brainstorming about it during the most inconvenient times...****

* * *

A Frightfully Generous Gesture**

**June**

I found the house to be surprisingly well-lit, even in its vacant state, save the sorcerer, wrapped completely in a black cloak, standing in the corner of my room when I entered. There was nothing ominous about the house or his shape as he turned to observe me, though his seemingly harmless, soft smile made me uneasy.

"How was your day?"

Instantly I stopped dead, and gawked at him in shock.

_Good God he sounded as though he genuinely wants to know._

"Well, I suppose, under the circumstances…" Eyeing him warily I inched to the wardrobe without removing my eyes from his motionless shape. With quick but calculated movements, I removed my coat and mitts, feeling it getting hotter and hotter beneath his dark gaze.

"I wish to apologize."

I almost walked into the door of the closet as I turned to hang my coat onto the inside of its door. Looking away, I wondered if I had heard correctly. When I looked back up, his soft smile grew into a something familiar – a most sinister looking grin.

_Ah yes, now he's going to do or say something I'll recognize._

"I feel…badly for how I behaved earlier today."

That wasn't it.

_Any minute now, he'll give up this act._

I could do nothing but stare in shock, frozen to my spot by the wardrobe, my hands still holding the coat which had already found its hook.

In the silence that followed, he tipped his head, and his eyes swept over me, flashing menacingly for just a brief moment.

_Ah, there's the sorcerer I've come to love to hate!_

Ever so slowly, he approached with heavy, deliberate steps until he was so close that I began to feel the need to retreat once again, but the tenderness in his eyes made me forget the urge, as though it had been a spell…and maybe it was.

"I would like to make it up to you, if you will let me."

Something in his eyes held me captive, though a tickle on my scalp assisted me in tearing my eyes away. When I glanced down, I thought I had seen his hand vanish beneath his cloak…as though…as though he had been playing with the loose strand of my hair but a moment ago.

To my relief, he walked away, but went to the doorway to the bathroom, gesturing me to follow. Cautiously, I made my way to peer inside, before and after giving him an odd look.

I couldn't even guess what he was about to say.

"You have running water, hot and cold."

My heart leapt into my throat in pure giddiness, _Oh my God, I must have misheard! Why was he being so…nice?_

"This, I assume you will not mention to anyone, as it would bring serious implications, my little June."

He knew I agreed and I was about to remark on this, and dare to inquire as to why he was being so generous but when I turned back to face him, he was gone.

And so, three blissfully uneventful days went by during which I used every opportunity to take long and relaxing baths. My skin tingled and I moaned in mere pleasure…before snickering to myself to imagine how I must have sounded to anyone who would hear.

As strange as it seemed, I supposed that suffering through that kiss was worth it. Though coincidentally, it was from that point on that the nightmares began. I had never before had such horrible, chilling nightmares. Perhaps they came because he didn't, and I felt more and more nervous about the reason for his absence. At all times that he had left for indefinite periods, something horrible always followed.

My dream world was somewhat reminiscent of the Ireland I had seen in Movies. Lot of lush green, rolling hills. For some odd reason, I knew that it was where I lived, though, my dream-self refused to believe it was my home. I felt completely and utterly alone as I walked in the tall grass in solitude, draped in the softest material I had ever felt, as though it was weaved by magic… Though somehow I knew that when it came to choosing my clothes, I had no option.

The sky was overcast with grey clouds, though onward I walked, even without knowing where I was headed, not caring whether the rain would catch me. For some reason I didn't care, and even hoped it would soak me. It seemed that the farther I went from the sinister castle behind me, the harsher the weather become; the slight breeze turning into a whipping wind. This was the end of the strange dream.

Or so I thought. Until it returned again.

The next night, I was walking again, and once again, I found myself in that field, seeing everything repeat before me, and I wore the same clothes as before. This time, I went farther yet, but stopped when I began to tremble from an unseen presence…Now, I could no longer move, and I sensed this someone else's presence become tangeable. Something cold wrapped itself around my right arm, and when I looked to see what it was, I found a silver serpent, with gleaming red rubies for eyes that flashed at me in warning. This is where it ended on the second night and I awoke with silent tears having soaked my pillow.

The next day was a blur, and the past two had been. The dreams were becoming more and more vivid, and a part of me was terrified to go to sleep. Staying up longer than any day before was futile, because my lamp had run out of oil, and my childish fears wouldn't allow me to search for candles. It was silly, really, because all I would have done would be to stare at the ceiling, refusing to close my eyes.

My efforts were in vain, of course, because even though I had slept at night, I had grew progressively tired from lack of rest. What little sleep I did get, was during baths; brief blissful hours after which I would wake up with chattering teeth because the water would cool so much. Exhaustion was taking its toll on me, and I had no strength to avoid the sleep that encroached.

The third night was the worst, in which I managed to walk farther, so close to where I wanted to be, in fact, that I could see the edge of the nearby forest, calling to me, beckoning me as though it were the threshold to freedom. Freedom from what, I wasn't sure, though if I tried to think harder, I knew it would be revealed to me, and that was the last thing I wanted.

Before managing to come close to my intended destination, once again I was rendered immobile, and the snake-bracelet hissed at me as its eyes flashed like before. In a flash of black, there was shape directly behind me, which wrapped its arms about me from where it stood. Its clutch snaked around me, and grabbed my wrists, without even a sign that I would ever be released from its hold.

On the verge of tears, I was unable to hold back a sob of pure fright when the shape took form behind me, and leaned his head over my shoulder, only whisper with a hint of a voice that I knew to belong to none other than the menacing sorcerer I had come to know.

Gasping, I woke up with his words echoing in my head.

"_You're mine!"_


	33. Erik: The Games Resume

**A/N: Here it is folks... more to come soon.****

* * *

The Games Resume**

**Erik**

It was only the pacing about in my drawing room that kept my concentration from scattering away from my train of thought as I remembered my first interaction with Christine. My voice, beautiful as its host was hideous, was able to soothe her and could ultimately bind her to me, just like I had become bound to her. Now, that angelic girl had begun to occupy my waking hours, and even haunt my scarce sleeping ones I had aberrantly allowed between my bouts of inspiration.

Christine would now have her own dressing room, and it was just a matter of time that I could help her gain more confidence, soon, some recognition and one day, even the adoration of Paris! Yes! It was possible! I could see it! Never before had I not planned something that I could not, and did not realize in the end!

Remaining completely hidden from her at this point was pointless, indeed! As I had already revealed my voice, things could not go back to the way they were.

_Then again, perhaps we can all pretend it was her imagination? Yes?_

No! I so yearned to speak with her! Anxiously, I could feel the longings growing inside me, and I could see how inevitable it would be to resist asking her why she was so sad – perhaps because she was alone? And she would answer me, in conversation, and finally, I would know the unknown that lay beyond those pale azure, angelically peaceful eyes.

And what was the point in moving the girl to her own dressing room, if not to contact her further? Well, I convinced myself that I wanted to be privy to her progress in every way possible, and even though this in itself should have been enough, a part of me was constructing a devious plan that would allow for more interaction! And her voice could be mine, to do with as I pleased!

The question remained – how would I speak with her, without having to explain who or what I was?

It would be much more convenient to be able to watch things unfold from behind the mirror, and not have to pursue her within the walls. To think, that there would be a thin layer of glass between us, and nothing more!

Even if I quite enjoyed the challenge of moving about without a sound, and snicker to myself at the shrieks I purposely induced, it was growing to be an old, and tiresome routine. What was it like to be a normal person? I wondered.

And then there was June.

I really didn't know what to make of this other girl. She was odd, to say the least, many times tongue-tied, but her kindheartedness was something of which I could or would never get enough. It really was perfect – I had a guaranteed link between my world and theirs, humanity's that is, and deep down I knew that June would be a great asset in my plan for Christine.

After all, there was so much that this strange girl owed to me, since I had bothered to compose a most convincing note to the Chorus Master! The poor girl wouldn't have made it too far if it hadn't been for my _involvement_. Yes, the girl would gladly be at my disposal, I was sure because something told me, that she knew Erik's wrath, just as she knew his name…

_Though _how_, is still a mystery!_

Still, I was left somewhat dumbfounded when it came to understanding her motives. Why was she so kind? What was she after? The taste of humanity she kept offering me was addictive, and I found myself needing to see her again. Her presence was quite revitalizing to the spirit, and even the darkest corners of my abode shone in a new and less sinister light.

_I wonder what she thought of that note I sent to her…._

What if she chose not to come? What if I had scared her beyond reason and now she dared not to return to my world? I hadn't considered such an option until now that my mother's clock chimed on the mantel, quite mockingly, as I considered that I would be enlightened about that mystery soon enough.

It was seven o'clock and the time had come to _retrieve my guest_ from just beyond the Rue Scribe gates.

_The fireplace is lit;_

_The chess board is set up, ready for a new game;_

_What _would_ I do if she doesn't come?_

Dusk had almost completely claimed the light of day when I emerged from the dark hole that was one of the many entrances to my home. As I crept toward the small, black gates, the friendly shadows swallowed up my shape so well that June didn't even notice my presence until my gloved hand gently settled onto her shoulder.

In reaction to a slight shriek, once again my hand was covering her mouth, now having darted through the bars and pressing her head lightly against them. To my surprise she didn't struggle, but seemed to relax with recognition, her shoulders slouching in relief. When I released her, she twirled around with what appeared to be excitement twinkling in her eyes and I thought there was even a soft smile on her lips as she sighed quietly.

"It's you…"

Taken aback by this odd but June-like behaviour, I simply stood there for a moment and observed her. What was it about her that I found so soothing? Perhaps it was how nonchalant she was about this arrangement…and my mask.

Turning in both directions to see if anyone was about, she turned back and held her face between two bars, "Well, are you going to let me in, or what?"

Again, there was something quite strange in the way she spoke and her mannerisms felt out of place.

_Out of place for someone who had never known what most take for granted…_

Such things as casual conversations or friendly chit-chats were foreign concepts to me, yet June created such situations with a free, natural attitude I found to be remarkable. Now it was more than my desire for revenge that needed to know about this girl's origin-

Oh Christine, how I missed her. And…how odd it was that in the midst of gazing at June, thoughts of Christine emerged like ebbs of a tide I had not seen draw toward me.

In that moment I was pulled from this trance, and proceeded to unlock the gates in my most swift and silent motion with the unseen key fixed to my cufflinks. The girl on the other side gawked at me in her usual way, with an almost drunken expression forming on her features.

She was still gaping at me with one edge of lips curling upward, her eyes unusually large but bizarrely, not from fright. It was upon losing my patience when I took her by the arm and yanked her to stand beside me so I could close the gates once again.

Without another word, I turned her away from me and applied the blindfold as in our previous encounter, and she obliged without a word, though I thought I heard a snort escape from her.

We walked for several long and silent minutes, with my hand mercilessly pulling on the crook of her arm, until I felt resistance and heard a noise that sounded a lot like wheezing.

_Can she be tired so quickly?_

"Would you mind too much if we stopped to rest for a minute?"

Indeed the girl was pathetically not at all in the shape she appeared, and as I was in the midst of trying to find a way to ask her if she was all right (for reasons beyond my own comprehension), she breathlessly expressed her hope that I would not make her swim the lake.

My jaw dropped then, beneath the mask.

"How do you know about…?" Before I finished, I realized that asking such a question was futile in attempt, "…oh, forget it."

Indeed, it could have been common knowledge that the Palais Garnier was built over a large lake, but how did she know it was the direction in which we were headed?

In the rather awkward silence that followed, June's self-consciousness was so tangible in the dark that I could feel it as though it was physically in our midst.


	34. Erik: In Promise for a Song

**A/N: Oh my...! I just had such a scare. I finished this chapter at about quarter to one, and was in the midst of posting it when I realized that I had neglected to save it from my email and then close Word. For several nightmarish, hellish, angry minutes, I panicked, because the majority of this chapter was saved in my temporary internet files and I had to find it. Let me tell you, now I know what it's like to search for a needle in a haystack! And oh! What relief when I found it. I would have had to rewrite four pages (typed) and I was on the verge of tears...of losing my mind. I was losing my mind so loudly that I woke up my daughter. Yikes! Now I'm deliriously happy that it's not gone after all...and that I could post it tonight. Oh my God, lesson well learned. Do I hear reviews of gratitude? :P**

**Now, for my usual Author's Note, thank you to all who have faithfully been reading and reviewing. Your comments are really appreciated. Now please tell me what you think...or I may just stop posting. Mwahahahahaha!**

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**In Promise for a Song**

**Erik**

With June's harsh panting having subsided, we began to move down the gallery now, and upon reaching the third cellar that allowed very little light from the ground above, I withdrew my lantern from its concealed cranny and lit it to assist us further down.

True, I _could_ have brought her the way we had surfaced before, but it was on purpose that I avoided the same path lest it become too familiar for my _guest_.

Indeed, in the direction we were headed, the only way was over the lake, and it was by its shore that June spoke again; though it was more of a grumble than anything, regretting that she could not see the waters.

In a rare display of sympathy I found foreign but rousing, I went and removed her blindfold so she could see that in honesty, there really was nothing _to_ see; unless of course, she had seen it before and this so-called view was merely nostalgic?

To my disbelief, she gaped beyond the lantern at the vague, bluish-black hue in front of us as though she could actually see the ghostly surface of the lake that was now still as glass.

"It's…it's beautiful!" A gasp came from beside me.

When I turned to see her eyes glimmering in the small light from forming tears, I found myself to be extremely perplexed; all evidence of the confusion well obscured by not just my mask but the comforting darkness as well.

_This girl is interesting, to say the least…has she lost control of her faculties or have I become so accustomed to all of this blackness?_

Due to the wretched fact that I had always considered the lake to be one of the many barriers between my world of a prison and the real one, it was by reflex that I rhetorically asked what I did then, my astonishment seeping into my exasperation.

"You are quite strange, Mademoiselle, do you know that?"

In the faint flame of the lantern's yellowish glow, I had though it would be impossible to see her deepen slightly in shade, yet I found myself to be mistaken. Again, as if to humour her, I offered her the lantern so she could look around while I busied myself with moving the awaiting boat back well enough into the water.

With one foot in the boat and retrieving the oars, I motioned for the young woman to follow with a gesture of my outstretched hand, but turned back to merely find that she was still ludicrously rapt in awe at our surroundings.

Perhaps long ago, before the time that I had spent so many years holding myself hostage in these dungeons, I had once found some beauty in the place my home resided – why else had I chosen this _landscape_? At what point had I somehow stopped my little game of make-believe that this lake was no different than those above?

As the girl raised the lantern past her face to inspect the area further, I observed the soft, delicate curves of her cheeks, and I felt my misshapen lips part to the sight of hers pursing gently. Glancing at her made me feel tranquil, and at peace even, and for the briefest, sweetest moment, I had forgotten that I was standing there, watching her.

Feeling rather uncomfortable then, in an attempt to regain my wavering composure, I cleared my throat to remind myself of the harsh reality, yet she took in as her cue to approach the boat.

Then, as she returned the lantern, I took her elbow to assist her; she accepted the gesture by grasping the thinness of my upper arm as she stepped over the small vessel's bow.

I had almost expected her to flinch from feeling how lean it was, though when I could see no apparent reaction, I was successful at hiding how taken aback I was by the casualness of her grasp.

Loathing and disgust, I was used to, and not this. Briefly, I found myself wondering how Christine would react if we were ever to meet. Did I want to know? Surely if this young woman could be so natural about my extreme lack of physique, so could an angel?

_If only it had just been _that_ and nothing more…surely Christine's pure heart can see beyond the malformed flesh that is my face…_

Our eyes lingered on one another for a moment as I pushed the boat into the watery abyss, and moved fully into it, sitting with my usual, smooth dexterity whereupon I arranged my cloak accordingly to take the oars.

Perhaps it was the play of light, but I thought I saw a slight smirk merge with her already amused expression. Finally, when I began to row the boat, our glances thankfully drifted apart.

Knowing she was once again preoccupied with her situation, I resumed watching her as she went back to inspecting the cavernous underground setting, not at all with the eyes of a frightened child, but rather, those of innocent curiosity.

How charming it was, really, to see that this dark, dismal sight was so fascinating to her. The way she was behaving made me think again, that it appeared this place was familiar to her, just as I was…

It felt like an eternity of silence that had fallen between us (not that I expected idle conversation with her), as we both listened to the rhythmic splashing of the wood cutting through the water, until her unexpected but welcome, gentle voice broke through.

"So," She began rather nonchalantly with a soft glance finding my pensive one, while playing with the material of the gown with her little hands, continuing as though we were a couple of little, old ladies having a tea party in a garden worlds away, "what have you been up to?"

Little did she know that I found her uncomfortably-desperate attempt at conversation quite entertaining, and could not help but smirk to myself at her most peculiar but refreshing attitude.

For some strange reason, the urge to reply was extremely tempting, though I managed to refrain myself, and instead, simply settled for giving her a passing glance of obvious amusement.

Realizing that she was going to get no answer, she immediately (though quite awkwardly) then reverted her attention to what was around her, once again appearing to be rather enthralled by the invisible black waters of the lake.

Upon reaching the opposite shore of my home, I managed to pull the boat well enough onto shore so she could keep her dress dry. Now why that mattered to me, I was not sure. Perhaps it was only fair, since she had treated me the casual respect deserved by any person all this time. And just as I began to convince myself that I had imagined the majority of our past interactions, she reached her hand out for me to accept.

Naturally as ever, she immediately took my hesitant arm, and I watched her, deep within my speechlessness as she precariously hopped out of the boat.

In a bizarre show of courtesy, I opened the door and make a movement to indicate that I would follow her, and immediately went about my usual task of lighting the candelabras on my walls.

"Would you care for something to drink?"

When no response came from the girl, I glanced back and noticed that she was doing nothing in particular but was staring at me as though she was having trouble believing her eyes. Yes, my mask finally became apparent to her, then, I believed.

Then, when I repeated my question most irritably, she finally replied that she would rather not, as it would no doubt hinder her chances at our chess game.

"Then you could have something to blame and your ego won't be injured any further." Came out my blasé, witty reply that managed to even surprise _me_.

Still she politely declined, and then to my irritated consternation, went back to her old habit of staring at me.

"Tell me, Mademoiselle, why do you consistently gawk in that way?"

Abruptly she looked down at her shoes, as though they had suddenly spoken instead.

"Are you still wondering what is beneath, perhaps?" I could barely keep a snarl from sneaking into my tone as I approached to stand relatively near her with just a few swift, but agitated strides.

"No, I already told you, Monsieur, I _know_ what is beneath it." She replied in a surprisingly resolute way, bravely daring to look me straight in the eyes.

"Then why, pray tell must you gawk in that manner?" I finally asked, stilting my words as the fury dissipated from within me.

From the corner of my eye, I saw her clench her fists, "I suppose I'm trying to figure out your facial expressions, Monsieur – it's somewhat difficult to have a conversation with someone wearing an expressionless mask with a blank look to everything I say…"

Did she actually sound offended? I must have been hallucinating! How could that answer have pleased me so much?

"I should think you have sufficient imagination." Was my witty counter, not failing to miss a beat.

Silence followed, but it was not at all unnerving; it was rather the opposite, instilled further by that foreign but warm _something_ in her hazel eyes.

"All right, Monsieur, I promise I shall only gawk at you when it is absolutely necessary."

We stood there for another long moment, before I indicated the chess table, which was prepared for yet another battle. Throughout the soothingly silent games that evening, I took notice several times, that when I would catch her gaze upon me, it was as though she wanted to make sure it was my eyes she held, and nothing more.

Then, just as it struck ten on my dear mother's clock, I pointed out how late it had gotten, and that we still had time for a final game before I was to take her back to her world.

Her response somewhat shocked me.

"Actually…I was hoping…since you're a musician, that you…could…perhaps…play something for me?"

Without moving, I stared at her, intent on finding a catch. Again I wondered what she was after, though my search seemed to be in vain when I could see nothing more in her warm eyes than earnest, genuine interest.

This did not fail to amaze me, but I knew all too well how to hide such things. From the outside, I must have appeared rigidly indifferent as I stood to walk away from the chess board.

"Perhaps…something on the violin?" She chirped hopefully.

Coolly, I glance back at her, noting that there was so much hope in those eyes, and that really, what harm would come of it? Yet still, I remained by the mantel, my body and my intentions on two different planes of existence.

When I still would not speak, she ventured to speak again, as if to fill the void that I was creating.

"How long have you played?"

It was another genuine question, I could tell very well from that tone, and this time, I found myself answering.

"I used to play when I was very young, but…I left it behind. Just…recently I've taken it up again." I added, unsure why that information would have interested her.

Of course she didn't know why I was so intent on the instrument. Yes, it had a beautiful weeping sound that could produce such deep sorrow-filled melodies, but in truth, I knew that Christine's father had played it, and it was a good place to start a connection.

When I looked back at June, she momentarily gave me a soft, sad smile before turning to glance at the dancing flames of the lit fireplace.

That wasn't sympathy, was it?

"Very well," I managed to say, realizing how beneficial my alliance with this girl could be, "I shall play something, but only if you promise do to something in return for _me_."


	35. Julian: A Song for the Nightingale

**A Song for the Nightingale**

**Julian**

Beyond the pane of my all-seeing looking-glass, things appeared to be going exactly as I had aspired, even if the scene before me showed June in the act of disobeying me at any and all turn of events.

The poor thing couldn't help it, really. I supposed that it had a lot to do with her frazzled state of mind – that to which I had contributed greatly without reservation. Her lucid dreams didn't help, perhaps? In any case, all that mattered now was that I knew there was a guarantee on my side and therefore it mattered little that she revealed things she shouldn't have.

Had my chambers not been so dim then, I would not have been able to discern the two shapes from the shadows amidst the candle-light of the Phantom's lair – that of the man in the mask, and the company he had yet again invited to fulfill his unrelenting want for the simple games of chess.

Glancing back from the soothing flames of the fireplace, June was again looking at Erik, after pondering his words and it was with a strange, fascinated satisfaction, that I watched the hint of sadness overtake the depths of her eyes then. Intently, I listened to the soundless words in her mind, and witnessed her struggle to push the slight, bitter disappointment aside.

From the visible effort that appeared as mere hesitance to Erik, he was still, nonetheless pleased with her small nod of concurrence.

_Your heart so wanted to say no, June, didn't it? Yet it also won't let you, will it? _

No, of course I did not actually revel in her pain, but rather, in my knowledge that my lesson was taking its course, and soon, little by little, she would see how futile this all had become, and inevitably, with the passage of time, her powerless situation would hold her to the consequences of our agreement.

_And thus, will bind my little pet to me forever…_

Indeed, it was strange to admit that this is what I desired. This understanding squelched the mysterious longing that had grown and was now progressively ailing me more and more. As soon as I had realized this, the storm then ceased within me, and I now realized that her humanity didn't have to be her disadvantage…or my own. After all, had she been a sorceress, her power to choose would have condemned me to live without her.

Still, even as powerless as she would remain throughout an eternity by my side, she would become ageless. Surely this idea would flatter her, no? How many humans actually looked forward to decaying into non-existence?

As soon as she could see that this Erik could not love her, perhaps fate would force her to turn in my direction?

But why was I thinking about Erik's love? What did love have to do with what I was feeling? This was all just a game, was it not? And no one had to know that I was twisting fate to my favour!

The disdainful, frustratingly insistent drawback that leered at me, was that I would somehow have to get her consent before all of this ended; it was the only way I could take her back to my world. Was it possible, somehow, to make her think she had assented?

_No, somehow I can't touch her mind…I couldn't go that far._

The last thing I wanted to do was to tamper with who she was.

_Yes, I want to possess her even to the point of-_

But really, how could I even consider _love_? It was ridiculous!

Briefly, as I watched her desperate attempt to recompose herself with yet another sip of tea, I allowed myself to feel sympathy for her, but only because of her successful effort to hide how deeply she ached upon seeing the piece that the Phantom had then retrieved from his room, setting onto the stand he had also brought with him…

…_as though its metal frame was feather-light_, I heard June's forlorn observation.

_Yes, June, the meaning behind its title does hurt, doesn't it? You know very well for whom that lovely, one page "Nightingale" composition was written?_

Yes, I would be sure to ask her why she even bothered to hope!

In keen interest, I continued to watch, but when the combination of her and my raw emotions combined became overwhelming, I withdrew my awareness from what June was feeling, though continued to watch the mere surface of the events.

Still, what the Phantom couldn't see as it was masked by the darkness as well as her great acting abilities, I could plainly perceive in her hazel orbs. He didn't know her well enough to understand, nor did he gaze at her long enough to see…I had made sure he would never be able to do so.

Numerously, her eyes read the title, over and over, her flawless knowledge of the French language mocking her.

_Ironic_, she thought, _that this was the very skill Julian so decisively instilled in me more than a month ago._

Like a soft caress, her saddened voice broke the silence as he lifted the instrument upon his shoulder, and went to stand next to the stand that held his newest composition.

"Is it new?"

"Yes, it is something I just finished not too long ago."

_Bull's-eye_, I thought as I studied her face in the soft, subtle light.

It was even more difficult for her when he began to play the instrument, because not once, she noticed, had he actually glanced at the score that was before them. It was innately a part of his soul…

_Just like the bond with Christine_, June thought sullenly as she swallowed the tender, growing lump in her throat. Unwilling to look at him, the girl went back to the settee, trying with all her miserable might to keep from trembling due to emotions I knew were coursing through her heart.

When the song was finished, the man timidly removed the violin from the crook of his neck, observing the girl on the settee and briefly wondered whether his music was to blame for how dejected she seemed, but June hadn't noticed his gaze until he took a small, tentative step toward her.

"That was beautiful." She quickly said as though she could mysteriously sense his thoughts, and also, with the hope that this would stop him from approaching further. The last thing she wanted was for him to see any evidence of the tears that were threatening to emerge.

Another silence followed, during which I found myself yearning to reach out to June, and to remove her from there. I was tempted to make her fall asleep, just so she would forget the pain for a brief moment.

But wasn't this what I wanted? Things were going according to plan and what was I thinking? I was becoming weak!

_I must not allow myself to fall prey to such silly whims._

When the deafening silence was broken by the soft chiming of some clock apparatus between them, followed by Erik's rather chilled, distant tone, June looked back up at him. I, too, felt the slight pang in her heart from his words and I contentedly reminded myself that this pang marked triumph on my part.

"It is quite late; you may stay the night, if you wish."

With no visible response from June, Erik turned to leave, but to both my and June's surprise, he returned a moment later with a velvet material hanging on his arm. My little June stood up questioningly as he extended it to her, and without any words she took that cursed cloak from him that was to be her blanket for the night.

As the Phantom proceeded to extinguish the lights in his drawing room, June still did not move from the spot she had stopped, irritatingly holding that piece of material so tenderly, as though it were Erik himself.

"Cursed deformed creature!" I spat at the mirror, willing her to stop gaping at him, causing her to blink in dismay and crumble into a chair closest to her.

Darkness descended in the Phantom's abode then, and each pretended to go to sleep, though June was the one I watched until the heaviness of my gaze revealed that I too needed to rest.

It was in the early hours of morning that June awoke, screaming from a nightmare that, for the first time in a while, had nothing to do with me or my magic. Yes, it irked me slightly to see her so disconcerted and frightened, but I was even more piqued when that masked man rushed out to see what the commotion was all about. And, to top off these events, when June became conscious, pained by her usual brain-cramps, to my irritated dismay, what he did then actually brought her peace, causing her to drift into sleep once again.

I felt my jaw tighten from my helpless aggravation as my teeth clenched and I stood fuming.

What else could June do but forget her pain upon hearing the Phantom of the Opera's sung lullaby, in his incredible, unearthly voice?

Spitefully, I took comfort in the fact that she would no doubt recall the melody which was the same piece he had played for her a few hours prior…


	36. June: A Welcome Distraction

**A/N: Here is another chapter. I am in the midst of writing the next one... all I will say is, don't let any of these events mislead you either way :)**

**Anywho, If you haven't already, please vote on the poll posted on my bio regarding which guy you think June should end up with :) I have a story plan, but don't wish to disappoint the majority just in case it's not what I have planned. Plus, I'm rather curious as to how this story is playing out for you guys.**

**Thanks again to all avid readers and reviewers... Thanks for reading.

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A Welcome Distraction**

**June**

The first odd thing I noticed as I found myself drifting out of unconsciousness was that no brain-cramps greeted me – perhaps because as I had barely recalled, they had already come and gone earlier that morning; it was just after overnight sleeps, not naps; a fact for which I was grateful…

Remnant images from the night before were swirling about in my mind, along with the haunting, poignant melody produced by the strings of a violin one minute, intertwining and replaced at times by a sweet, beautiful voice, the next.

The other peculiar thing was that I was no longer lying on the stiff settee, in Erik's drawing room; but rather, on a worn, ragged divan in the chorus dressing room. This second observation was more disappointing than the first, naturally, and immediately I hoped that I hadn't offended Erik when I clung to him desperately just before he sang my pain away!

What had I done? Of course I had offended him! And that was the reason he brought me back.

_Oh, that's right! He sang for me!_

I had always wondered what his voice was like! And the one time I was there so near him to hear it, I was too busy tearing at my head, convulsing like some wild animal caught in a trap!

Perhaps I wouldn't see him again? Even if it seemed he had _disposed_ of my presence, he did sing to me for comfort, no? I didn't dare to hope. Maybe it was simply to distract me; to hypnotize me so he could carry me back to the surface and leave me here without a hitch?

Stretching the stiffness from my neck as I sat up, I glanced back at the makeshift pillow that was my neatly-folded coat: He really didn't want to leave me any excuse to seek him out, did he? I had all my belongings, and there really was no reason to make contact with him.

As I swung my feet over the side to sit upright fully, I realized that I could have very well ruined things with him. First, by asking him to play for me, and then allowing myself to get noticeably wrapped up in my hopeless fancies only to see no one else in his heart but Christine! Then, when he was beckoned to my rescue and in mere desperation, ceased my suffering with but a song, with his majestic, caressing voice. How had he known it would help?

How ironic that it was the very song that I knew had been inspired by and composed for that pretty, talented Swedish girl. But it was _his voice_ that made the pain diminish – and perhaps, it was also the effect of his hands, gently on my shoulders, pushing me back down. When my head was on the settee's velvet pillow, my fingers had still been gripping the lapels of his jacket, those of my right hand having entwined themselves about his loosened cravat in utter distress.

Somehow, through the coaxing of his voice, he effortlessly pried my hands away from his person and in a smooth, slow, cool motion, tucked them beneath the cloak-blanket. Faintly, I recalled the soft weight of his cloak move higher to cover me fully, but the rest of this scene faded into an obscure, black void.

_Oh that voice! Even its memory fills my chest with the fuzzies!_

And now, it seemed that my actions, even if out of desperate need, and merely half- conscious, were unwelcome.

_I should get out of here just in case someone comes…what will they think when they find me here?_

Feeling rather hollow all of a sudden, I mechanically put my coat on, forcing my body to cut off any and all contact with the screaming of my pathetic heart. It was only when I reached my rental flat that it somehow managed to sneak communication to my frame because I sobbed and fell against the door, my knees buckling as my hands gripped the door-lever in a vain attempt to keep from sinking to the floor.

In Erik's company, I had successfully managed to hide the slight numbing ache in my chest but I wanted so much to release it.

_I'm not going to cry. It's too early in the game…and yet…_

All of this was silly, really, that as much as I wanted to have my childish daydreams realized, in one night, I was faced with the reality that perhaps I had sold my soul for mere interaction (and nothing else) with this man – this beautiful soul and enigma of a human. This man, whom I was beginning to see, was so much more than the idol to which my heart had grown attached.

The only foundation for my newfound and growing awe for Erik was nothing more than adolescent infatuation. But then why did the prospect of losing him hurt so much? And what had given me the right to expect something from him?

What made me so special, just because I cared? It was just an obsession! It had always been a stupid obsession! And I had signed away my soul – only to learn that what I had gotten was an illusion… a fanciful, elaborate mirage inspired by something I could barely make out through the murky haze of the wishes in my naïve heart.

_What makes me think I even have anything to offer him?_

Christine soul _was_ a beautiful thing, and I bitterly saw that.

At this point, I was feeling useless, and quite thankful that I had no real obligations that day. Rehearsal wasn't for another two days, and decided I could shut it all out until then. Kicking off my shoes, I climbed beneath the comforting softness of the duvet, clothes and all, cocooning myself thoroughly, far beyond caring about the impending excess of wrinkles.

With the scenery of my room out of view, wrapped up in a stuffy world of the blanket, for a moment I pretended that this had all been some strange dream, and that in any minute, either my alarm would go off, or…

I could hear the door to my bedroom open with a familiar creak, followed by the padding of my mom's slippers on my carpet, and I would see her feet through a small crack of the covers, standing my the bed; about to shake me by the shoulders…

When I moved eagerly to reach out to her, I realized that I had half drifted to sleep, because it all faded, and I was back beneath the covers, my gaze focusing on its stitching.

_I am now officially homesick._

Staying there, in bed for the next two days would have suited me quite well, and perhaps I would have drifted back into a happy, familiar world of the home I had left behind, if it hadn't been for the voice that interrupted, its host standing directly by my head.

"I will never understand this strange human tendency to mope and wallow in self-pity."

The words alone would have been enough to reveal whose they were, but the voice itself was more than familiar with its over-the-top, arrogant intonation.

"Go away!" I grumbled from beneath the duvet, hoping he would just vanish as quickly as he had come.

After tsking me, he switched to that reproachful tone he had used once before, though this time he added playful hint to his tone, "Is that any way to speak to someone who is about to offer you a lavish breakfast?"

_I must have misheard._

Slowly, I moved the covers off of my head, but stopped directly below my eyes to peek at him. He was surprisingly close to the bed, but I was still too preoccupied with his offer for his proximity to affect me.

"Excuse me?"

"You could use a good breakfast, June. I assume you're hungry?"

"What do you want?" The words came out as more of an accusation than a question.

"To offer you breakfast."

When he saw (or perhaps read my mind to see) that this answer wasn't clear enough, he elaborated in a chilled demeanor with an explanation that immensely astonished me, "You could call it a request for a truce; I still feel badly for my behaviour that night."

It was as though the detachment in his tone had betrayed his words…

"You…feel…badly?" I echoed him in disbelief.

He gave a small, quick nod, without removing his fiery eyes from my own timid and suspecting ones. Something in them made me duck back under the covers only to shudder even though it was warm there.

"I'm not hungry, but thanks anyway."

As if on cue, as such things tend to happen at the most inconvenient times, my stomach gave a loud, growling gurgle.

"You were saying?"

I sighed, feeling defeated.

_Okay, fine!_

"I shall leave you to freshen up and return for you in an hour."

The covers above my head billowed slightly from his exit, and I lay there but another moment, considering that at this point, any distraction from Erik was welcome.


	37. Julian: Déjà Vu

**A/N: Okay, so, thank you all who reviewed - I have a good idea of where this is going - don't let anything you've read mislead you, either way. June has a long way to go, poor thing, but in the end, I think we'll all be happy (at least I hope).**

**This story seems to have a life of its own...even if the plot is in my hands...or at least I think so. A few scenes are planned, and I have lots of ideas still, and the ending is determined but not yet written. Anway, your feedback is highly appreciated!!****

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**Déjà Vu**

**Julian**

Before appearing to June, I stood quite near her in my invisible form, allowing the intoxicating rose-scent of her freshly-washed hair to wrap around me as I peered over her shoulder. In her shaky hands was a crumpled piece of yellow parchment which looked as though it had been bunched into a ball several times. She was staring numbly at the single hand-written line on it.

Listening to her uneven breath, I pushed aside my regretful ache for her as I watched, bitterly, her trembling fingers trace the words that were hastily scrawled in red-ink, written with a clumsy hand to form a simple, short message, underlined mockingly for full impact:

Remember our agreement.

Reading humans' minds and feelings was an effortless task, but there was no such need with June, as I could easily tell from the way her shoulders were slumped that the deliberate shortness of the note greatly pained her. No, she could never forget her promise. Not even if her Erik hadn't bothered with this note; June was cursed for as it appeared the poor thing was in the habit of getting herself into awkward agreements.

Ah, and no, he wasn't _her_ Erik. Nor would he _ever_ be.

Then, perhaps she sensed something because goose-bumps appeared on her neck, and the soft hairs there stood on end. Instinctively she held the note to her heart, guarding it from my prying eyes.

"I know you're here, Julian."

I was rather taken aback by her proclamation; her capability to sense me was extraordinary – never before had a human shown an equal height of awareness. From the beginning it was something I found to be quite fascinating, and I now knew that it was what summoned me to return to her, day after day. Was this just a part of what made June unique?

Instead of appearing myself, I instantaneously willed the fire place directly beside her light itself. As if on cue to her caught breath, I then merged into visibility, still in my place directly behind her.

"I wouldn't want you to catch a cold." when I spoke, again she gasped, but turned to face me, managing to suppress another frantic, intake of breath at my unexpected proximity.

To my amusement, her eyes narrowed but she still said nothing.

_She really ought to get used to this_, I thought.

"I assume you are enjoying your shampoos and bathing oils?"

To my evident delight, her cheeks flushed indignantly – perhaps she thought I had repeatedly spied on her during those times. Indeed, often I was tempted, but never was I so perverse.

Was this choice the _honourable_ thing to do? Never before had I imagined myself existing in one sentence with that word. Would I ever reveal to her that she had that effect on me? A puny little human, having this kind of control over such as I – it was absurd. No, I would never tell her…

With her cheeks flushed in her fury, I found that I could not tear my eyes away from her. Even though the curtains were drawn, from the tiny cracks that allowed light to creep in, her flushed cheeks made her look astoundingly…breathtakingly…beautiful.

Perhaps it was the remnant effect of the hot water, and my distracted senses!

Instead of contemplating about this any longer, I opted to change the topic, in a desperate effort to distract myself from the sight.

"Do you like your new fire place, My Pet?"

It was a rhetorical question, of course, and I asked it knowing fully well that I wouldn't get a reply.

Very often I had found her shivering at night, after her baths but I convinced myself it was just the guilt that wanted to make her as comfortable as possible.

Her brows furrowed adorably, her hazel eyes flashing delightfully at me, and she graced me with a reply, of some sort, after all. "Don't call me that."

_I will call you whatever I wish…_, I replied though was careful not to let her hear me, although willed her to remain where she was, standing closely.

Oh, she fought it for a moment, but had learned well to give up such struggles and this pleased me. No, she hadn't managed a single movement in retreat from her position in front of me.

What was disturbing to see, though, was that soft, almost exposed sadness reappear in those eyes that had but earlier shot me a dark glance. Again, a part of me yearned to help her forget…

A distant hand on her shoulder would have sufficed to sweep her with me to my castle, though this fact was a small, irrelevant detail, was it not?

Unsure whether it was my magic or by her conscious choice, those orbs locked with mine as I gently, yet resolutely wrapped an arm around her. Enveloping her with both wings of my cloak, I leaned over her shoulder, helplessly breathing in her scent again.

Tall, wide and arched windows allowed late autumn's daylight to flood into my dining hall, its glass capturing the sun's warmth within the newly created space. Sunlight beamed onto us, and as June was still finding her bearings upon our arrival, my eyes drank in the sight of her golden-auburn hair that was set afire by the beaming rays pouring onto her.

Why could she _not_ be mine?

After overcoming her slight disorientation, I let her push away, as she took notice of our surroundings, which included the long, extravagantly-set table with two places prepared on one end.

The white-clothed table-top was laid with five or six silver platters offering freshly cut fruit – exotic and seasonal; steaming sausages, bacon, eggs in every shape and form – even her favourite kind of omelet.

"I didn't know…sorcerers ate." She could barely keep from gaping.

I glared at her deeply when she glanced in my direction, smiling slightly; proud of the fact that this trite capacity of my power was so awe-inspiring for her, "This one does."

The answer had meant to flatter her, though it appeared to confuse her instead.

With a slow gesture of my hand, I indicated the end of the long table, still refusing to break my eye contact with her. This acted as some sort of spell that I enjoyed…a sort of power over her that I could use to my advantage, and because she was vulnerable, it was all the more effortless.

When she sat down, this bond was regrettably broken, and she softly sighed as though this withdrawal of energy was a tremendous drain on her.

I had never watched anyone eat before. Such a strange ritual, this eating – though perhaps I could get used it?

…_If it were to involve watching my little pet, day after day…_

Surely she would choose this type of breakfast over the bleakness of bread and water in the depths of my dungeons? Then again, would I ever commit her to such a fate, should she refuse my offer? Well, it was no offer, after all, but the repercussion of an outcome to our agreement! No, it would never come to that, even if she were to decline the position by my side.

What else was it that humans did during such times? Ah yes, they conversed.

"How is everything going?"

Modestly as ever, June was about to place a piece of freshly cut fruit into her mouth and paused to glance at me with a look that contained a combination of curiosity and incredulity.

In her hazel orbs, there was a spark of pain, before she blinked and looked away toward the nearest window.

"Everything is well. I'm looking forward to rehearsals."

Not that I was expecting her to admit to anything that had transpired between her and Erik (I assumed she suspected that I sometimes watched her), or how deflated she was feeling about our little arrangement (as she had made this quite evident before), but even as she attempted to be nonchalant about her reply, I already knew that she was a terrible liar.

The incapability to deceive, in my opinion, had always been a sign of weakness, though somehow, in June's situation, I found it to be a rather admirable quality. Bias was odd that way, I supposed.

_My usual laws no longer apply to her, do they?_

Most of the meal was spent in silence that was made all the more awkward for June because I had been openly watching her. Yet again, her unease brought me satisfaction, and I suspected that this was a source of power for me…

"Would you like to see more of my castle?"

As reluctant as she was, inwardly she was thinking about how desperately she yearned for distraction from thoughts about Erik. Of course, I was more than happy to comply with these whims.

As we walked in silence without discussing a destination, she observed the corridor walls, her eyes caught by many archaic tapestries from every dynasty lining the stone. Some were from her world and others from my own.

"How do you like it so far?"

June's guard seemed to be down as she examined a sculpture of a princess closely (one that used to be a real princess, turned into stone by my evil hand), and she absent-mindedly answered my question without hesitation, "It reminds me of the fairy-tales I used to read about as a kid."

"Have you ever considered living in a castle?" I asked, briefly wondering how her fear of me would increase if she knew that the work of art had once been able to speak.

"I think every little girl imagines what it must be like. I am no exception." For a moment she walked backward in the same direction, glancing around to absorb the sight that had been behind her. From my view, I watched intently, once again convinced that a dress of my world would suit her shape nicely.

Deep in thought, she stopped, looking at a set of closed doors nearby. "What's in there?"

Her eyes asked whether she could see, and I simply nodded with permission, eyeing her carefully; curious as to how she would react upon seeing what I had been wanting her to see. I could, after all, change my castle's layout with a single thought.

The room was simply elegant, with colours I knew would fit June's fancies. In the recent months, I had learned a lot of her tastes, and used this knowledge to my advantage as my plan was taking form.

As she looked around, spellbound and mesmerized by the sight, abruptly, as though wakened from a beautiful dream, her eyes caught the painting on the wall I had placed there, in hopes that she would notice it. If she was a fan of Monet, surely she wouldn't fail to see…

As recognition dawned on her features, I wondered whether she would faint – the colour drastically drained from her face then, as her eyes jumped about, frantically examining the features of the person in the painting.

Still disbelieving, she turned to me shakily, and asked who was depicted on the canvas. I was sure that neither the subtle white strokes of lace about the face created by my magic brush, nor the flowing dress were overlooked.

As cruel as it was, I remained silent, pretending to examine the painting for myself. Eyeing her calmly but intently, my only reply was a pensive, and soft, evil smile.

If possible, she became even paler, and I was content to see her sway a bit even, as it gave me an excuse to appear nearby to steady her with the support of an arm around her waist. As I held her, she refused to look up, dizzily leaning on me with her heavenly warm palms against my chest.

Little did she know that slowly but surely, I was coming undone by those hands.

"Would you like to see more?" I purred into her ear, my question purely rhetorical, as I once again basked in her helpless state. It was the kind of power I relished, and held onto with a desperate grip, as it was the only power I still held over her. "Perhaps some fresh air will do you some good, my dear."

Without waiting for her to agree, we were outside in the quiet, late fall's cool air, standing on the edge of the forest that marked the outskirts of my property. The fresh air seemed to bring her fully to her senses then, and her strength suddenly returned.

Within the same moment, she broke free of my embrace, sprinting away from me and unknowingly heading back toward my castle.

As abrupt as her attempt to flee had been, she stopped just as unexpectedly, frozen and shivering not from the chilly climate but from having to face the frightfully harsh reality of the scene that now appeared before her.


	38. June: Dreams and Nightmares of Reality

**A/N: Oh...my... this chapter was such a pain to write. Anyway, I was fighting some more writer's block. Well folks, here it is, please enjoy and I am hoping to see some reviews :)****

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Dreams and Nightmares of Reality**

**June**

Even as we stood outside on the edge of that foreign forest, blown by the serene, nippy breeze, my mind was racing frantically as its eye was desperately trying to rid itself of the haunting image I had unintentionally etched there.

Whether I opened my eyes or kept them closed, it made no difference. All I could see was that face, with those familiar hazel eyes that were regally accusing me with their relentless gaze. Even though they were painted with dark colours, I had no trouble recognizing them, for their alarming familiarity had only ever been found in reflections of mirrors into which I peered everyday.

Yet there was the portrait, hanging above the fireplace of a magical room, within the confines of an evil sorcerer's castle. There it was, yet I had never recalled posing for it. Or, more accurately, I had never consented.

Shock numbed me to my immediate surroundings of Julian's arms, though I was not disturbed enough by the recent turn of events to miss the irony of the contrast between the state of my frazzled nerves to the peaceful swaying of the autumn branches adorned by the breathtakingly bright array of fiery foliage consisting of yellows, oranges and reds. Almost playfully those leaves danced, I noticed, just as I was beginning to tremble uncontrollably from a chill I knew had nothing to do with the weather.

Unexpectedly, with surprisingly immense strength, I pushed myself away from him, both stunned and relieved by the lack of the usual physical or magical struggle between us. But since Julian liked games, I knew better than to allow myself to believe in the possibility that he was done playing with me.

Bolting from his loosely encircling arms, I only made two running strides before stopping dead from the sight in front of me. It was chillingly familiar, from its lush glade to the stone structure that occupied it, its ominous grey towers looming above.

That dream….! It was…real…?

How could my dreams have depicted reality with such disturbingly detailed accuracy? How could my mind conjure up a place that I had never seen before now…?

I wanted to ask him, _how?_

And most all, _why?_

But when I turned back intending to confront him, his shape was gone; not at all obscuring yet another frightfully familiar scene. Not at all concerned about where he had disappeared to, I was too enthralled by the recognizable formation of the forest's edge; the way the boughs hung, clusters of smaller branches entwining like bony fingers…

_No, I can still sense him…just like in my dream…but what _is_ different from my dream…is that it was all greener…with longer, fresh, green grass… as though…_

…As though I had been shown an earlier season…?

_Or perhaps,_ I thought with a shudder, _it was a later season... _I considered all of this with dread, and that those _dreams_ must have been his doing….

In utter desperation to convince myself that all of this was nothing more than a simple coincidence, I turned back with the intention to analyze the castle, hoping to find something – _anything_ – that would contradict my wary suspicion.

Yet, instead of seeing the castle upon spinning around, blocking my immediate path was the dark, menacing frame of Julian, whose hands shot out from beneath his cloak to grab me by my elbows before I had chance to back away.

Startled by his sudden, aggressive grasp, my knees buckled and I would have collapsed if he hadn't been holding me up; doing so without showing the slightest effort as though I was lighter than air.

"You seem pale, my dear," he spoke with a terribly calm tone, softly into my ear because I wouldn't look at him, "perhaps you should lie down and rest?"

_Lie down? In that room? Where that painting can steal my soul?_

"No!"

In frantic vehemence, I shook my head, extending both hands against him, intending to push away as I had done mere moments before. This time, however, I was not as successful, and realized that I had only managed to do so then because he had allowed it.

As for his question, I knew it wasn't genuine, nor was he making a polite, concerned suggestion. It was nothing more than a charade; a mocking inference that I was imagining it all; including the reason for my fear, and that really, the circumstances were trivial.

For this reason, my reactions were absurd, since that portrait was actually of someone else, and having seen this place before in my dreams, was simply coincidence! Yes, as incredible as that scenario was, I preferred that last thought to be reality!

_No, it isn't a coincidence, and he _knows_ that I know it! He wants me to know…_

I could not stop wondering, _why?_ But it was a combination of denial and fear that kept me from asking him. Perhaps a part of me knew the answer, and it wasn't something I could accept.

"Autumn is a beautiful season, is it not, my dear?" He commented, allowing his grasp to slip to my forearms where his hands tightened, though somehow, his touch remained deceptively soft as he pulled me against him again.

I wanted to escape, to flee, to climb back beneath the refuge of those duvet covers and never even have to feel Julian's burning gaze, the sensation making my skin crawl.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I knew it was in vain but I fought against him, "I want to go home!"

"Home, June? What exactly do you mean, my dear? At this point, that word is a relative term, is it not?"

"You know what I mean!" I screeched, on the verge of tears.

"Ah, but you haven't seen my rose garden yet!" He spoke in a cheerful tone now, wearing a chillingly happy expression which I knew we both believed was an act. Suddenly I felt a strange surge go through me and I lost all will to fight him.

Oh, I still tried, but it was futile. As I felt myself melt onto him, he softly whispered a soothing hush into my ear. A long moment passed, with me, in his arms as I slipped in and out of awareness. Whatever it was, I fought it, but uselessly realized it could only be one of Julian's spells.

Through a haze I failed to see how in the next minute we ended up in a garden, the very garden from my dream, once again surrounded by rose shrubs. Strangely, the weather was warmer, and unlike in fall, roses in all shades were blooming around us.

Then he released me for a moment, encircling my waist with his arm from behind. Even as weak as I felt, the magical trance itself seemed to be holding me up. Just as something compelled me to let my head fall back against him (I suspected it was his magical influence), his other hand moved to my neck and gently upward to my jawbone, though barely touching me.

I could feel the earth beneath my feet, Julian's body behind me, and a soft caress against my cheek. It was a rose, I then saw, that he had plucked unnoticeably, and he was stroking my face with the bud's lips.

Smoothly, I was beckoned to turn and face him, while he raised my head with the hand that hovered in the crook between my chin and neck, so that our faces were just inches apart. Slowly, his floating hand was guiding me closer…

He probably would have been able to kiss me, if he hadn't said what he did then, "Forget about Erik – you can be sure he will never love you!"

_Erik!_

Upon hearing Erik's name, my mind was stirred awake from the depths of the fog, and frantically, it swam to the surface of the mist, breaking into open air, breathing, gasping from the overwhelming freedom.

My mind was alert then, and I felt myself gain control again. Whatever it was that had held me in its power, its spell was now broken and it no longer held my consciousness in that muddled prison!

Around us, his garden was in autumn now; rose-shrubs bare and devoid of any green; the grass brown and dry from the cooler season.

The illusion of the summer scene was completely gone.

The sky too, was paler, and seemed to reflect the evident mood of the Being who still would not release his hold on me physically but now my new-found strength gave me the courage to look up at him.

Glaring down at me were his ebony eyes, crimson-tinged and narrowed in fury when he realized the effect of his power had waned. No doubt he realized his mistake, in the moment my mind echoed The Phantom's name, though I could not tell whether he was angered by his underestimation of me or my refusal to kiss him once again.

Unlike last time that such an event had occurred, he backed away; his dark gaze forebodingly locked with mine. Just as the red glow in his pupils completely enveloped the natural dark brown, a spark from them knocked me unconscious.

It felt like mere seconds later that I sat upright with a gasp, my heart beating like a drum against my ribcage and almost deafeningly in my ears. Somehow, I was back in my rented room, lying on top of a half-made bed, as though it had all been nothing more than a dream…

…_or a nightmare!_

Although, I could not just simply dismiss this as a nightmare, and that was due to one simple fact: I wasn't at all hungry.

I was at a complete loss to understand Julian. His games were becoming more and more dangerous, and I could only guess he was wanted me to fail. But why? Again I wondered, what he would have to gain from my loss? Could that painting _mean_ something? Was an evil sorcerer capable of what Julian was so good at playing? Could an evil sorcerer _love_?

_June you've completely lost it! Why would an all-powerful Being _love_ a mere human?_

I doubted I would ever understand what was in Julian's mind…or heart, if he even _had_ one.

Worse yet was the fact that I bitterly realized as I flopped back onto my back – I would have to call upon Christine Daäé today.

_With all things considered, being dipped in honey and rolled in feathers sounds more appealing right about now._


	39. Christine: A Strange Visit

**A/N: Wow, 130 reviews. I'm so humbled. Thank you all. Hope this pleases. Till next time!

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A Strange Visit**

**Christine**

Like most evenings, I was seated at Mamma Valerius' bedside, reading another passage of some agony column in the Revue Théâtrale, then later on, her favourite book that discussed Opera Tragedies. Though, this time, my act was mindless, completely performed by instincts well-versed in the usual evenings' routine.

For days I had been wondering whether or not to tell Mamma about the voice…

_Perhaps I _am_ going mad?_

Often, my mind wandered to the past, but particularly this evening, I found myself thinking about that boy from my childhood; and how lately, I felt like his memory was following me wherever went. Of course it had always been nothing more than my imagination, because even I knew that I was prone to imagining things that weren't really there. At times his face would appear at a distance, but then, vanish, before my eyes could fully adjust. Yes, I was indeed prone to seeing things, unlike those whom never had any difficulties with their eyesight.

_But perhaps it wasn't a fault of visual perception, because even the voice was nothing more than my imagination! What is wrong with me?_

I wondered_, Can mournful sorrow turn into lunacy?_

It was a deafening silence that pulled me from my reverie, only to realize that I had stopped reading for a while, although I could not recall when as Mamma Valerius had not objected because she had softly drifted off.

Sighing, I leaned over to blow out the candle between us on the nightstand, urged by the worry that it would wake her. Sleep had been so elusive for her as of late from her sore back, and it was a relief to see her resting peacefully.

In the dusky light left behind by the descending sun's remnant rays, I paused to look at her serene features, noticing wistfully how the dimness so smoothly camouflaged most lines of her kind face, as though it was five years ago or more…and, we were all in the past, when this woman was yet to meet me and Papa. It was only the silver hair that held a larger part of me to reality.

Yes, I was now pretending that he and I were still going sleeping in barns, in caves; living, breathing off of Music instead of food and sleep; our souls feasting and resting like royalty from glorious Music! I wished I could remember feeling that happy about _anything_, most of all a gift I felt I no longer wanted!

Was it gratitude that obligated me to attend classes? What had compelled me to audition for this company in the first place? Or was I stupidly holding on to the belief that perhaps, one day, Music would make me as happy as it once did when Papa was alive?

And now the madness of my heart and mind had created this _thing_, a _Heavenly_ voice which at times had even whispered into my ear as I would come and go about my day at the Opéra! Even worse was the fact that shadows always moved in the corner of my eye.

_To mention this to anyone would definitely be hazardous._

For this reason, I wanted to vow that I would never tell a single soul about this, yet I knew that if someone earnestly asked me, Has anything strange ever happened to you, Christine, surely I would tell them. But really, what were the odds of that occurring?

Quietly as I could, I made my way out into the hallway, pulling on the door only so much as to leave a small crack, like always. Just as I reached over to the gas lamp nearby to turn the flame down a bit, I caught my reflection in the oval mirror directly in front of me. It had been such a long time since I had seen my face so flushed!

Again my mind began to wander to the past – to Papa, the beaches at Brittany, my wet scarf, and Raoul. Sweet, adorable Raoul. He, who had promised never to forget me, had unintentionally cursed me to never forget him, while I was sure, he was somewhere, in the midst of bedding another lover and fiancée or wife.

Even though I knew this was the reality of life, I couldn't stop the slight pain in my heart from pushing a tender lump to my throat. I forced the memory of the boy-would-be-man out of mind, urging my eyes to once again focus on what was physically in the mirror before me.

Years ago, such a hue to my cheeks would have been natural, but the sight now surprised me as the usual pallor of my face resembled bleached porcelain, ever since my father passed. This didn't help the effort I made to push the past back to the farthest corners of my mind! As my hand reached up to touch my cheek, the mirror also reflected a rising shape of Mamma's solemn-faced maid trudging up the stairs over my shoulder.

Turning, I was about to tell her that Mamma was sleeping, and that there was no need to creep into her room, thereby waking her by accident. Before I could formulate words, and instead of the expected, she approached close enough to lean in a bit, and whispered to inform me that I had a guest waiting for me in the drawing-room.

_A guest?_

I barely doubted that this piece of news made my cheeks flush deeper at the fanciful images that flew to my mind. Without intending to, I imagined Raoul de Chagny, nervously and impatiently waiting in the drawing-room, pacing about the small area, unable hold his hat from the great anticipation of that girl coming to speak with him. The one he had been following about the Opéra relentlessly!

_Silly girl!_

I hadn't even asked Rose who it was, leaving her too quickly before she had a chance to reveal the guest's identity.

No, I _knew_ that it couldn't have been M. de Chagny, the Vicomte. Why would such a gentleman come to call on a mere Chorus girl? I hardly wanted him to call upon me, knowing what it would have meant.

_Silly indeed!_

I felt a disappointment even before catching a glimpse of the girl, whose back was to me now. Recognition dawned on me, and a part of me was content to see her again, even if she was behaving rather oddly by analyzing a few of Mamma's knickknacks on the mantle. The items appeared to fascinate her so much, in fact, that she hadn't even heard me come down the steps, or enter the room.

_How could she even know where I live?_

For a little while, I stood by the door, watching her keenly as she went from the trinkets, to a vase of roses, sniffed them gently, her light-brown braid falling over her shoulder, and moved to look at the few books I had neglected to return to the library the night before. I wondered then, what she thought of Faery Tales, and found myself hoping that perhaps we were kindred souls!

At this point, I was feeling rather awkwardly ill-mannered – watching her without her knowledge – and so, purposely pushed the door to close with a noticeable _clack_.

Her reaction would have been comical if she hadn't been so close to knocking the vase off of the table nearby. In a humorous, nervous movement, but with surprising and admirable reflexes, she managed to catch it before it tipped over and set it back in its place carefully.

Breathlessly, she then looked up sheepishly and gave some form of unusual greeting, "Hi!"

_Strange._

I made sure to smile pleasantly at her; she seemed in desperate need of reassurance,

"Hello, June. So to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"

At this point it appeared she was wondering how long I had been standing behind her and how much I had observed. A flicker of something else made its way to her gaze as she looked at my gown, and the mess of curls that escaped the loose bun I put into my hair before settling down by Mamma's bedside. The look in her eyes almost appeared reproachful, and yet…

"Well, the truth is I don't really know anyone in Paris. I was hoping we could simply talk?"

The sincerity of her words and the friendliness of her tone distracted my wonder just enough to convince me that I had been mistaken about her look and that I was just imagining things about her that weren't there. Was I not inclined to do that often?

"Of course," I said gently, allowing a smile to drift onto my lips. I really felt for her, all too familiar with such hardships. "Would you like some tea?"

"Sure."

Again, I hadn't noticed how oddly she spoke before now. It felt almost _otherworldly_. Then again, our previous exchange of words had been a lot more brief, so how could I have known?

Rose was nowhere to be seen, and it didn't matter as I preferred not to be served. It had always made me feel awkward and inappropriate, as though I could never forget that such a position would have been my own fate. I preferred to serve myself, no matter what fate would offer or decline.

Politely as I could, I asked leave to prepare the water and retrieve the tea leaves, and once in a while, peeked through from the kitchen, more so out of curiosity than suspicion to see what she was doing. At first her eyes drifted about the room, first from the carpet, to the ceiling with the countenance of a young child in a museum. She was twirling her braid absent-mindedly, tugging her lips from side to side before I spoke.

"How long have lived in Paris?"

"Almost a couple of months. And you?"

I returned to sit across from her before replying, "It has been a few years."

"Do you live with family?"

Mamma's face swam into my view for a moment, and I had to work to recall the man by her side, "Yes, he was a Professor of Music-"

"Your father?"

"No, my benefactor. He died. They both did. First the Professor then, Papa."

"Oh, I'm sorry…"

She really appeared to be.

"So…with whom do you live now?"

"Madame Valerius, though she is like a mother, and so I call her Mamma." I wasn't sure what had made me feel like I could say such things, but it just spilled out, as it felt right to do so. "And you? What are your circumstances?" I beckoned her to reply with a soft smile.

Oddly enough, she blinked, and it almost appeared as though she was struggling to keep a straight face. "Well, I'm…visiting from far away."

"Visiting? Visiting Family?"

"No…not quite." She pursed her lips then, appearing to be at a loss for words. "I…came with…an uncle. But you wouldn't want to meet him, he's…quite a…grouch."

As her eyes went to the ceiling, she spoke the final word with an odd hesitance, as though she wasn't sure she should have used it. Even though I wasn't familiar with the word, I surmised by her attitude that it wasn't a pleasant attribute.

"I see."

After an awkward silence, I thought of other things to ask, and answering my other questions appeared to come more easily to her. Actually, I discovered that incidentally, her home was not too far from Mamma's house, and even offered to walk to rehearsal together.

Again, she replied in that same, strange manner.

"Sure."

When another lengthy silence followed, she broke it by clearing her throat, with a delightful twinkle in her eyes.

"So, has anything strange ever happened to you, Christine?"

The room fell silent again, but I felt my eyes grow wide.

_How odd that she would ask me that. How…frightfully odd._

The quiet moment was actually briefer than it felt, for as soon as she had spoken those words, the kettle began to whistle incessantly…and eerily.


	40. June: As Promised

**A/N: OMG! It's been ages! I know! Okay, so - sorry if this Chapter seems a bit angsty but June is starting to realize a few things now. I also had to deal with a plot hole...so...here it is. Enjoy.**

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**June**

**As Promised**

_What the _Hell_? Where had that question come from?_

All of a sudden, the temperature in the room seemed to soar, and beads of sweat formed on my temples in mere seconds. What had I just asked? What kind of question was that?

Christine Daäé arched a delicate eyebrow, her powder-blue eyes bulging rather unpleasantly out of her head in apparent fright. Before I could open my mouth to speak again, she asked leave for a minute, disappearing into the kitchen, and the irritating whistle was gone.

Instinctively, I gave into the urge to slap myself on the forehead, and continued my desperate attempted to think of something to say, now that I had the opportunity to think more clearly in privacy, while invisible waves of prickling anxiety ebbed on my neck and back.

And I thought things couldn't get any more awkward!

_Damn._

As she returned with the tray containing a white, pink rose-patterned china tea-set, I cursed the snail-like speed of my befuddled brain, and then used all my effort not to display the frustrations on my face as she glanced at me intermittently between pouring into one cup and then the next. Luckily, it slowly came to me:

"What I mean…is that…well…I've heard…that the Opera House is haunted…strange things always happen there. Is that true?"

As lame as that recovery attempt was, I found myself hoping she wouldn't see past my calm exterior – my well achieved poised manner. Truthfully, the inner-version of me was jumping up and down and running in circles like a lunatic. I ignored the fact that her eyes wandered to my brow, as she tilted her head slightly.

As I felt my cheeks flush, I wondered whether they counterbalanced the redness of my forehead.

At this point, I was mentally frazzled and completely bemused; I tried not to show any of this on my face, thereby in any way reveal that the words I had spoken hadn't in fact, been my own. I was sure of it. It was like…someone had force-fed them to me.

Of course, I had my suspicions of the culprit's identity. But what got me was why he was so intent on seeing me fail? Indeed, I was always asking that. And rightly, I would always forget to ask him, every single time I had the chance…No, next time, I definitely would, if there ever would be a next time…though I suspected our contact would only cease once the game did, so yes, there would be a next time. I dreaded to think about it further.

"I admit, those stories intrigue me, but I don't believe them…perhaps years ago, I would have."

As hard as I tried, I couldn't rid my memory of the images Julian had shown me and a visible shiver passed through me. When I saw Christine's smile of genuine concern, I doubted she understood the cause.

"It is rather chilly in here, is it not?"

_And I was correct._

It really was nothing like in Erik's home. Down there, the air was always chilly, and yet I was never cold there. Nor did I ever feel so utterly vulnerable in Erik's presence as though his company provided me with a shield against Julian's manipulations… Then, when I glanced back at Christine's blushed cheeks, it made me glad that I wasn't sitting in Erik's lair, gawking at him from across the chessboard, telling him about her.

Even if I knew that soon, that was where I would be, and that's what I would need to do, because it was my promise. And now I cursed myself for agreeing to it. Oh, the irony – being a spy for the one I loved – yes, truly loved! Not obsessed… what I felt was an excruciating pull between wanting him close and wishing I could keep him far away, and yet with deep a desire to make him happy, all the same.

Perhaps that was why I agreed to his request; to make him happy. Music he promised to play in exchange was just a little treat but pretending it was more than a gesture on his part was nice. I would do anything he asked of me, including spying on one he loved – I also felt sure about that, as he couldn't say her name without his eyes brightening.

I would need to develop a technique to guard against the knife that plunged into my chest from this knowledge and I found myself hoping he wouldn't send for me soon…yet…

_I wish I could see him…_

The tea would warm me up, she said; I sipped it grudgingly as our conversation turned completely mundane and the time it devoured, stretched into more than two hours. The beautiful, exotic Swedish girl laughed joyously at something I said in earnest, though I admit, did sound like a joke – I couldn't recall what it was as I wasn't even listening fully to our conversation.

Against my will, I engraved the sight of her into my memory so that I could tell Erik all he ever wanted to know. I would be sure to tell him about the roses, the books she read, the colours decorating her home, how her hair curled about her face; I loved seeing his dark eyes sparkle with joy, oh yes, just as much as I wanted _not_ to grow to love him even more. Maybe if it hurt enough, it would stop growing, and Julian would have no more power over me. Or maybe I could control it, and turn it off for good.

_What did I get myself into? How can I even think that I have a chance against this…angel?_

Would I have dared to sell my soul had I known what I was up against? Or would I stubbornly try, blinded by my fan-girl-ness? I just wished that I had something to offer Erik… that was something he wanted.

Just a little after the third pot of tea was consumed, I was standing in Christine's doorway, and once again, she was smiling warmly at me. How did she not sense how much hostility I felt when I looked at her?

Somehow, I had agreed to another get-together. In fact, I had also consented to meet up with her on a regular basis, and it was only due to the reason that I could always bring information back to Erik about her, that I couldn't deny her request. Information about her. She would always be the topic of our conversations to come, I sadly knew that.

That meant having to return to Erik often! Yes, I wanted that. But did I _truly_? Was it worth the pain? And what would happen if I never returned to him again? What use would any of this be? And would Julian still expect payment for something I gave back?

No.

I refused to give up. There was still time.

Not expecting otherwise, to my relief I found the house dark and completely desolate. After that little incident with Julian in the morning, I was sure he wouldn't be around for a while. He wouldn't make an appearance for real, of that I was certain, but I know that in these times, horrible visions were going to haunt me during the night. Tonight would be the test to see if my theory was correct.

With the front door locked behind me and a candle in hand, I made my way toward the stairs to go up to my room, but accidentally kicked something small, causing it to slide to the base of the first step. As I leaned down to inspect what it was, my heart gave an elated jolt before it sunk in the pit of my stomach to see what it had been. It was a yellowish envelope, addressed to me, written in none other than Erik's trademark handwriting.

_To June_, it read, above the address that I pretended was my own. At first I just stared at it, enjoying the sight – pretending other things, such as what I wish the letter would contain. Of course, reality was too heavy on my mind, and I knew that it was probably nothing of the sort I daydreamed about, nothing too lengthy either – like his previous note – simple and straight to the point.

Setting the candle-holder on the first step I picked up the folded paper with reluctant, shaky hands, and inspected it further. It had no stamp or sign of mail delivery – he had been here, in front of my house. I wondered whether I would have seen him if I hadn't gone to see Christine…

_No, of course not. He deliberately wanted to avoid me. Just like the time before, having slipped the first one into my coat pocket._

This truth stung.

Sitting down on the step, I gently turned it between my fingers, and noticed the black, simple wax-seal. It wasn't anything dramatic, like what it was in the musical-movie, but it seemed all the more precious, still. Blindly, I broke the seal – only seeing the actions he performed to arrange delivery of this letter – and then removed the parchment from within.

Unfolding it slowly, I prepared myself for another blunt message, and I was glad that I did.

_I expect to see you in two days with the information as agreed._

I must have stared at this note for at least an hour before moving to get up. It must have been at least that, because my candle had completely burned away. Somehow, I had found my will to move, and walked up the stairs, numbly, enveloped in soothing darkness.

Really, I truly wanted to burn it, but instead, I simply fell asleep with it in my unwitting grasp, tucked beneath my wet pillow.


	41. Erik: Informative Informant

**A/N: I hope this turned out well enough. Sorry in advance for typos and grammatical errors - I'm a tad sleep deprived...Good God, don't ask why...I wouldn't want to bore you into sleep and then you won't be able to read my post.**** Enjoy!

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Informative Informant**

**Erik**

Between rehearsals that were the only highlights of recent weeks, the Opera was as silent as my tomb below the vacant stage, and I grew desperate to fill a void I had developed from having become addicted to human contact. Of course it would remain a new concept to me; instinctively it felt right to yearn for such things – all my life I knew it was missing, and now that I had tasted it, it's memory would never leave me.

For hours after she had left, I would stay in that coffin, blinking in the darkness, torn between wanting to feel normal, and aching from the lack of what I always believed to have never deserved.

Yes, I was now tuning into the need of this sort of contact, and perhaps, even to the idea that there existed a human being not overcome with fear and repulsion at having to be in my immediate vicinity. Such a thought gave me hope – it meant I could hope as much with Christine.

But calling her a friend would be foolish. I cursed myself for developing this attachment – this need to be hear another presence nearby. How odd, considering the time spent with June counted for such a small fraction of my miserable and pathetic life.

I did a lot of pacing, very little composing, besides the notes for June… but those didn't count, of course! I couldn't question why I had bothered with my efforts to remind her of our bargain. And what a bargain it was! It was more so to my benefit than her own!

It was beyond my comprehension why she had agreed to be my eyes and ears where I could not be, and why she did not ever attempt to go to the Sûreté, and why my music seemed enough in return? Was this a game? May this all had to do with how she behaved as though I should have known her, for real, once…but that was dream, was it not? So far, I had determined she would be no threat to my identity, even if she knew about Erik and his face.

Another hour passed and I continued to pace, counting down the minutes. I had never known what boredom was like. Not before her. My senses were addicted to June, even if my mind was caught up in images of Christine.

The whole situation was baffling. I was sure she couldn't have known fully about my face and return to me of her own accord – wearing a strange, drunken smile all the same! To this though I had an immense craving for some brandy and while pouring, could see her grinning at me, causing me to chuckle lightly. What a strange, perplexing thing she was! Briefly I wondered whether letting her go had been a wise idea – perhaps I should have kept her company, and continued with my games as could continue to pretend to be enveloped in our chess game!

But perhaps then I would have revealed myself to her fully, and even though this thought made me cringe, I continued to ponder, I could have been more certain she didn't care what was beneath! But why did that matter? She behaved as though I were handsome, like a man from the world above. She spoke to me as though my mask was my face, as naturally as though _it_ had been my face. No, she couldn't have known what was beneath, if she was so kind!

If she had seen my face, surely things would be different. She wouldn't smile at me like that, nor would she make small conversation and stare deeply into my eyes as though she was searching for something in them. Surely, she would have been dead just from having seen the sight that was my unfinished yet decaying face? As terrible as these thoughts were, it would have saved me from having to wonder that either she was oblivious or blind.

_Maybe upon seeing Erik's face, she would either forget who she __is, or give up the charade and tell me who _I_ am._

Now, I was sure the June would say not a single word to anyone, not even Christine about me. There was this look in her eyes that had convinced me, such was that open, deep understanding and unusual but familiarly comforting gleam of kindness in her pools of hazel. Though I did wonder whether Christine would tell June about her numerous encounters with a ghost she didn't believe in. Would I ever hear of such a story retold from June's gentle lips?

A day was spent tearing out a wall of my cellars; I no longer felt the need to have such a room in my home when there were infinite other possibilities throughout the space that my house occupied. And if I hadn't absorbed in this task, surely I would have gone (more) insane from boredom.

I spent most part of the next day and the morning after immersed in drawings and sketches I was making to reflect the alterations I was considering, and finally, it was time to retrieve June from the gate entrance.

Cooler October temperature had hit; I followed the puffs of warm air the emerged from a shape leaning against the building solemnly. Again there was no fear about June, as she waited for her captor. This time, she appeared rather saddened, and I couldn't help but feel responsible.

_Alas, p__erhaps she feels pity now._

A few minutes passed before she noticed the shadow of my shape, though when she looked up from beneath her heavy hood, it seemed as though she was not at all surprised (though not upset) to see me standing nearby. There was something in her eyes, though I gathered she was merely lost in deep thought, her mind refusing to return in the moment her gaze fell upon me.

Refusing the urge to smile at her, and not because she couldn't see, but because I deemed it inane, I slowly opened the gate for her. Without a word she passed through it, glancing up at me briefly, as though in greeting and turned her back to me. Once again, this young woman had returned, with the intention of helping me, and not once did she ask _why_ it was that I sought her assistance.

It was after a while standing there like this, that she turned her head slightly and spoke in hushed tones, "Aren't you going to blindfold me?"

Briefly, I fumbled about, patting my pockets with trembling hands to find the handkerchief, and continued this task of tying it in a rather clumsy manner behind her head, strands of her hair tickling my wrist where my gloves left a gap.

_Why are my hands shaking?_

As awkward as it was, I chose the shortest route to my home, impatient to deliver us from the deafening silence.

She seemed to keep pace with me quite well, and this time, with only faint panting. And somehow she knew when it was that we stepped into my parlour, and that it was now safe to remove the blindfold.

Momentarily, I watched her slowly slide the material from her eyes, over her nose, pausing there for a minute before disentangling the loose knot I had made.

"Would you care for a drink, Mademoiselle?" As the question came out, I was already by the mantle, refilling the brandy glass from earlier. When she made no reply verbally, I offered her water as well as wine.

"Wine, please." Ah, there, then she smiled, ever so slightly.

As I passed the glass to her she murmured her gratitude while I wondered what she had done with that handkerchief.

"The wine should warm your blood." I commented reassuringly, and instantly began to question what had compelled me to say such a thing, considering it meant I _feared_ she was cold and that it mattered to me.

And why should it not? It had been verified that she was no enemy to me. It would do neither of us any good if she became ill, I considered and then proceeded to stoke the flowing embers of cindered wood chips to stir it for more flames.

"Have you had any dinner?"

For the first time that evening, she allowed our eyes to meet before nodding her head ever so gently and without a word, or movement to remove her heavy cloak, she slumped into her usual spot in front of the vacant chess board.

We sipped our drinks in silence for a moment and I finished my own with a final, large swig, while eyeing June who seemed to be rather interested in the deep red liquid she was swirling.

"So, tell me," I began, sitting in my chair, while my hands were busy assembling the carved players between us. "What did you find out?"

Her lips parted, though then she pursed them, looking up, but not at me, as she was still seated sideways on the chair. It was as though someone else stood in front of her, addressing her while all I heard was silence.

Finally, she made a movement and turned her head, examining my mask. Just like before, she examined my eyes, as though searching for something within them.

"About…" I heard her speak, though her voice shook unexpectedly. It should have been a question, I knew, but she stopped, for it seemed she found the answer in my anticipative glimpse before even uttering her inquiry.

Quickly, she withdrew her eyes from mine and returned to watching her hands that were holding the glass on her lap, and I thought I saw her swallow with difficulty.

"Her home is very modestly decorated. Creams and lavenders…She…loves rosehip tea, and reads fairy tales…she loves roses, but prefers wild flowers."

"What else?" I coaxed, anxiously moving about the room, and leaned against the mantle, watching the flame-edges whipping.

"She mentioned a voice. She has been hearing a voice and…" Here her voice cracked and I thought I heard a soft sob, though it made no sense.

"And?"

There was a great pause, and from where I stood, I half saw her turn to look at me again, appearing to consider something thoroughly and with difficulty. Perhaps she thought that whatever it was would anger me.

"She thinks she's been visited by the Angel of Music." These strange words came out slurred, as she spoke them even-toned, seeming to be detatched from her own words.

No, not angered...just confused. My mind reeled.

_What?_

"What?"

"The Angel of –"

"Yes!"

Of course! Why hadn't I thought of it sooner? All those times I heard her praying to her father in her new dressing room, all alone. All those rare times, I could have freely spoken with her, and not merely sing to her when she was sad as I had been doing.

"She will ask you whether you are..."

How could she prove I was not? But…no…

"No, I won't until she asks." I proclaimed more to myself than anyone else.

I wasn't sure how long of a moment passed before I turned fully to face June. She was now seated the way she always was, ready to play, but was cradling a Pawn between her forefingers, while wearing quite a grave expression.


	42. June: Reflections and Realizations

**A/N: Oh my... I would like to thank you all, faithful readers for your patience :) I would have updated at least two weeks ago had I not had my toenail ripped off. Oh my GOD it hurt like HELL.**

**I was dying to get this chapter out. I'm hoping for more interaction between Erik and June, to establish some real character bonding...but...I'll get to that soon.**

**Hope this chapter pleases.**

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**Reflections and Realizations**

**June**

Not only could I feel it, but from the corner of my eye, I could see Erik watching me intently. Perhaps, he was attempting to decipher the source of my sullen mood and no doubt, he believed he was the cause, but unbeknownst to him, it was altogether different than in the way he suspected.

What had I gotten myself into? How did I think I could do this, time after time? This was only the first of many such occasions and already my resolution was waning. And how was this supposed to help me to get closer to him?

_I must have been out of my mind when I agreed to this for him!_

As in other similar and awkward situations, I turned inward for conversation in an effort to console myself.

_You need to gain his complete trust._

_Yes, but isn't there another way?_

_Such as?_

_I don't know, by doing his laundry?_

_That's not funny!_

_Well, I'd rather be his laundry maid than hear myself talk about how beautiful Christine is._

_It's what you promised._

_Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!_

"Does she have visitors? Such as suitors?"

My mind was pulled from my little reverie, the echo of his question acting like a sharp slap, closely followed by a dull but lingering pain that constricted my throat, and weighed heavily on my lungs.

_How can a silly infatuation hurt so much?_

Yet, it's all that it was – I kept telling myself.

Opening my mouth to speak, I found myself unable to utter a single syllable. Instead, I shook my head without looking up. I didn't want to see his eyes now, which were vivid enough in my mind's eye, twinkling with hope.

No, Raoul was yet to show his face. A part of me hoped it would be soon, and the imbecile part of me wished he would never come. But he would, wouldn't he?

Of course, the inevitable followed. It was the last thing I wanted – yet another impersonal game of chess accompanied by otherwise idle and insignificant banter

Oh, how I hated chess, which only ever seemed to inspire conversations about a certain little angel-faced Swedish singer with a Heavenly voice. It didn't help that I wasn't even any good at it. The most unbearable thing about it was to see him sit in front of me, too far to touch yet painfully close at the same time. Except of course when he asked questions I couldn't answer because it was forbidden and bending certain rule would allow Julian to have a field-day.

Finally, I mustered the courage to look up at him, only to be rewarded with the beautiful sight that was Erik, in all his elegance and glory. As usual he was dressed all in black, except just a small hint of the white of his dress shirt and the cravat of choice, a dark shade of burgundy. The heavy cloak hung on him, outlining his frame with a painful grace.

"Would you sing for me, Monsieur?"

At first I thought he hadn't heard me, but then he shifted, peering pensively somewhat over his shoulder, his deceptively dark eyes locking with mine. Instinctively, my lips melted into a soft smile; it was simply the sight of him that had done it. When his eyes shifted away, my heart writhed sharply and I felt the need to look away as well, though was too overcome with the desperate yearning to trace his beautiful outline.

Smoothly, he turned to face the lit fire place again, leaning on it with one hand, taking immense interest in the empty brandy glass he was holding, the edge of which he was fingering idly with the other.

Had I merely gone into this thing with nothing less than the idealistic hope that Erik would love me? Indeed those were the terms and now I realized how silly that was! The best I could hope for was to be in his company and enjoy it; to hear him sing, play his music and then get caught up in rapt conversation with someone of admirable intellect. And I had sold my soul for it. Surely even Julian would agree that I paid a high price.

Unexpectedly, he consented without words; I watched him move to sit at his piano. Then, once taking a deep breath, his voice softly sounded about us, as he began a most tender song. _The_ song. It was the same piece he had played on his violin for me days ago, and the very same he had calmed me with when I was suffering from my now-trademark brain cramp. And it had no words but his exquisite voice caressed each note as though it were a poem of love. It didn't need words; they were already there.

I was stuck between wanting to listen and telling him to stop. All I could think of was Christine's smile and the title of his composition. Somehow his music had all of that.

Waves of heat ebbed over my back and neck, the tiny hairs there standing on end. The sound of his voice was torturously beautiful! Oh, he knew about its splendor. It was clearly a source of beaming pride for him, and reasonably so, also a much needed ego booster. In Music he was the most beautiful person alive; if he had anything to be vain about, it was that. And of course, it was the only part of him she would ever accept.

Objectively speaking, his voice would suit Christine's perfectly and I wanted so much to hate her even more for that.

His amazing genius just frightened her in the book; it was in fact, something I was growing to see more clearly and revere.

As he played and sang, I found myself pulled into that little nook of the piano. It was only when he finished that he noticed me leaning onto the piano, standing there, and he appeared visibly uncomfortable at my unexpected presence near him, causing him to spring to his feet. When I moved away, all the way against the back of the settee, he noticeably relaxed, sitting back down, though his shoulders still heaved heavily as though he had just finished a marathon, no doubt from having completely lost himself in the passion of his composition.

Again, something above my abdomen agonizingly squirmed.

…_If only I could stop what I feel…_

"I have yet to put words to it." He stated softly, his tone distant, covering up real thoughts and emotions as he stood up awkwardly.

"It's beautiful." I whispered, not realizing right away that it wasn't in my mind. I wondered whether he knew I was referring to his voice.

His head turned upward a bit, but did not turn fully in my direction as though the view from the corner of his eye was enough. "I mean, your voice…it's…it's…like _you_ – extraordinary."

_Oh June, what _are_ you doing?_

The Phantom then abruptly shot his head up to look me, his yellow-glowing eyes analyzing me in awestruck wonder, "Who _are_ you, Mademoiselle?"

_A pathetic girl who is hopelessly falling for you._

"Y-your friend – someone you can trust."

The silence that followed stretched on until the sharpness of the settee's carved edge dug painfully into my back.

I watched him nod, absently, as though my words had been in language he couldn't understand.

"I will be requiring your much-needed assistance in the near future. I'm making plans and I cannot complete them without your input."

I had no idea what he meant until he showed me the room. The wine racks and bottles were gone. The back wall had been moved, expanding the space, and new paneling had been installed. This must have been all he did since he last sent me away.

It was in the midst of replying to his query about my opinion as to the colour scheme that should be used, that I solemnly realized he was preparing. In a pained dread, I recognized the birth of the Louis-Philippe room.


	43. Julian: Merciless Honesty

**A/N: Once again, it took me forever to update. I'm really ashamed, but life has really gotten in the way as of late. I'm in the midst of preparing for a bunch of vocal competitions, and procrastinating from writing an essay, AND an article for a writing course! Plus, I have to memorize the German lyrics to a lieder song by Schubert. I love Schubert, but...AHHHH! It's so painful. Did I mention I have a three and half year old?? And I'm a single mom. :) Busy? Yup.**

**Anyway, compared to all that, as hard as it was to write this, it was Heaven in contrast :). Okay, enough blabbing. On with it. Hope this chapter pleases and thank you all for your IMMENSE patience. :)**

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**Julian**

**Merciless Honesty**

It took days before I could look at her without hearing his name on her lips. Unfortunately refusing my common sense, I gave into the urge to make June's imagine appear to me one night and only because it made me even more furious to imagine she could freely interact. I wouldn't allow her to believe she was free of debt to me. There _was_ something I wanted to say, was there not?

For a while I watched her walk among the shrubs and rosebushes, as I admired the way the dress I had envisioned flowed, and how the natural auburn-brown and bronze of her hair gently swept her shoulders. Everything about the scene was of my creation, except of course the human girl whose mind I had beckoned to my own.

June had been spending a substantial amount of time with the deformed madman, and as much as I had convinced myself that I would let the developing negative outcome affect her, I found it to be rather difficult to sit by and watch it tear her apart. That, and being by her side during these difficult times could be to my advantage…_our_ advantage.

That and perhaps it had been a long time since I had seen her smile, and even if the many tears she had shed as of late might have been caused by my vile scheme, I still blamed Erik without uncertainty and reservation.

He_ is your source of misery, June._

Hearing this, June turned to face me, her contented, bright and dreamy expression darkening as soon as she laid eyes on me. Ignoring the tritely sharp pain, I approached her, refusing to reveal how happy it make me to see her, even if it was merely a mirage holding her there. All she could see was the usual haughty look on my face. She almost appeared to see through it, but apparently struggled with how she should feel. Or it was perhaps what humans called, 'wishful thinking'.

"What do _you_ want?" She inquired in an immensely bored tone and even rolled her eyes for good measure.

What did I want? Ah yes, it was now clear to me that all blinders had to be removed, to matter how harsh the situation. Sorcerers were cruel and ruthless when they fell in love, even more so if it was with a human; I wanted her see it.

"_You_ are the one in _my_ garden, June."

I knew that would set her off, and her reaction made me smile smugly. I knew that even after centuries, I would never tire of that fire in her.

"Because you brought me here! Why can't you just leave me alone? Isn't this tactic getting a bit old? Why can't you allow me the one time I have peace by forgetting the odds against me?"

Unable to decide which of her remarks I would confront, I simply sighed at first, unable to wipe the self-satisfied expression from my face.

"Is my garden so awful, June?" _Am _I_ so awful?_

June shook her head, with a look of utter hopelessness that nearly tore at my normally stone heart. Nearly.

"What do you _want_ from me?" She was now imploring in desperation.

"What does Erik want from Christine?" I replied with a question she knew the answer to as plainly as the odds against her. When she made no movement to reply except shake her head in feeble defiance, I approached with my usually slow, albeit deliberate steps, causing her to retreat until she could back away no further from a tree against her back. "Is the answer too difficult to accept?"

"It's not possible! You're just messing with my mind! For some insane reason you want me to fail!"

"Think, June. Why would I want you to fail?"

"Because you're playing with me! You needed a new toy!"

"Do you think I would have ventured to make my initial offer to you out of sheer boredom, had I not had the significant motive?" It was amazing how frightened she was becoming, simply in reaction to mere words, rather than from the powerful Being trapping her before him.

She pulled her arms in, her fists clenching against her chest, stubbornly turning her head away. Gently taking her chin in hand, I effortlessly had her facing me again, "after everything that has happened, I'm surprised that it isn't obvious to you," slowly, I bent my head to her face, wanting to give into the urge to claim her lips but settled to simply touch my nose to hers, "perhaps I shouldn't have made any effort to hide it from you?" _Then we wouldn't be in this mess, and perhaps you wouldn't be in pain?_

Suddenly, upon hearing that, she looked up, with glossy eyes. I knew that in the depth of the black night beneath the Paris Opera House, June was weeping in her sleep.

In dreams it was easier to encircle one's arm around someone, especially when it was a dream woven by magic. Even as defiant as she was behaving, she couldn't stop me from pulling her completely into my arms.

"You _will_ fail, June. And when you do, I will be here, waiting." I whispered gently as though speaking to a child needing to be pacified.

I could hear her wondering whether my certainty came from my arrogance or because I determined the outcome. "Hope is hurting you. Disappointment will injure you further."

"Stop it!"

"June, don't forget that I _always_ get what I want," I warned, holding her more firmly now, completely giving into the yearning to feel her fully against me, "I just don't want you to be harmed in the process."

"Leave me alone!"

"_Never_, June." I hissed into her ear, feeling the ire expanding in my chest when she attempted to push away again.

When she responded with a frantically shrill scream, I allowed the dream to dissipate and watched her wake up to her usually painful brain spasms. Perhaps next time I would offer to rid her of those…perhaps.

When I saw a shape emerge from another room of the lair with a candle in hand, I cursed my hesitance about helping her with the pain. Had I done so, that _Erik_ would not have appeared before her in the guise of a valiant hero, to once again comfort her as before.

While I could feel my teeth clenching as I sat in my throne-like chair, I watched the scene further, against my better judgment. It would give me encouragement, I thought; it would give me the fuel to continue being relentless in my plot. I would have June's soul, one way or another. And now, I was feeling contented, because she knew it too.


	44. Erik: Conversations Over Tea

**A/N: Eghh, I'm not sure how I feel about this chapter. I've had life issues getting in the way, as well as merciless writer's block. To be frank, I'm somewhat torn. I love both these guys...I sort of have a plan as to how to end it (two actually) and haven't REALLY decided what WILL be the end. But I promise to make it as believable as possible.**

**Okay, so on with it. Hope you enjoy and I really look forward to some feedback****

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Conversations Over Tea**

**Erik**

Sleep was evasive when inspiration struck. No matter what time of day or night, it controlled me, and like a slave to its master, I always gave into the necessity to follow it.

Ever so gently, my fingers would caress a solitary note of my organ or even many in tandem, as in the midst of another sleepless night, that I quietly attempted to capture the forming melodies that had crept into my mind. It was in one of these mental lulls when I couldn't quite get the chords to blend the way I had imagined it – with its quality of deep despair, it was such a wretchedly desperate scream that I considered it could very well have been coming from my mirrored room…

Quickly I considered the implications of that scenario. June would witness too much…and then what would I do? Before, the answer to such a situation was simple and unquestionable, but now, there was more to everything I knew.

Removing my hands from the ivory, I listened more closely_, no, it is outside_ – where June had been sleeping for a mere two hours – now it seemed that the girl was awake, and was crying out in utter fright.

I lithely rose to my feet, intent on hearing her so that at any moment I could change my mind about offering assistance. Why did I even have this urge to see why she was upset? What concern was it of mine? Even if this hadn't been the first time... And yet…

_I find it disturbingly important…_

Upon confirmation of my theory that it was my guest, I felt grateful that I wouldn't have to resort of manipulations or deceit. I could just imagine what I would have done if someone had actually become trapped in _that_ room. How would I have explained that to June?

Yes, she knew about the room. That was still a mystery to me. But would she be so forgiving in practice, as she acts in theory? What if she were to witness my true nature?

And why was such a prospect troubling me?

In a few strides I rushed out of my shadowy room with a single candle in hand. The fireplace had gone out; the tawny shine of embers casting their dim glow onto June's now contorted, tear-streaked, usually soft and somber features. For a moment I stood above her, at a loss for what do to.

_What does one do in such a position?_

Was it inappropriate to make contact? Imagining the outcome of making unwanted contact caused me to shudder – perhaps she would awaken from my touch, and be more frightened than she had been when asleep. Such shrieks of desperation were generally caused by the sight of _me_. I had absolutely no experience _relieving_ anyone of fright…had I? Yes, it was well known by me that _I_ had always been the _source_ of all such terrified expressions.

As before I would have sung to her. But I found myself just staring, caught in the sight of her helplessness.

I stood for another minute; indecisively watching June's squirming shape as her little fingers scrunched my cloak, until I couldn't bear to listen any longer. Instinct being stronger than my own fear, I reached out a hand, even if not quite brave enough to make contact with her skin, but stopped short, my fingers floating near her cheek; my bony, ungloved hand poised in an awkward position to cup it. Abruptly, as though sensing the cold clamminess of my proximity, her hand grasped my own, pressing it to her face. I jolted with a start, my heart pounding with a combination of anxiety and thrill. Such a sudden motion and a bold one too, caused me to fall to my knees by the settee.

Shakily I set the trembling candle on the floor by the foot of the nearest armchair, pretending my other hand was simply indisposed…

I knew a thing or two about propriety. Things I had observed over the years – in the Theatre; outside of it. Not to say I had no respect for the fairer sex, but I was not a product of Parisian society. Propriety was a relative term – in Persia a woman's brother could not have seen her unveiled! And here I was with a woman I had met a mere three weeks ago–

_Barely a woman!_

-with my hand upon her face!

I felt the need to pull away, but could not, trapped by the not so innocent pleasure of human contact. Human contact with the opposite sex! I was now contemplating how to overcoming my own lack of will when her eyes opened, wild with fear, and locked with my own. It was then that I realized how physically close we were. How swiftly the fear shifted...and soothened to the sight before her...

The sight of me was having this affect? No, that was impossible.

Suddenly I no longer felt the urge to move away when I recognized something in her eyes. In their depths I found a strange sense of understanding, though I still struggled to comprehend what exactly it was that I was seeing, refusing to believe.

She too, saw something in my eyes, for her weeping had now ceased. Their intense gaze searched for something – I recognized hope, even though I had never actually seen it before I had met her. And even though she could have never felt the loneliness I had all of my life, it felt as though she was eager to understand what she saw in a walking-death's eyes.

And we stayed this way for a seemingly-drawn-out, awe-struck moment. Time halted as I stared back at her, idly wondering whether I should have been allowing such gestures! Or at least it felt that way; I knew it must have been after mere seconds that she swiftly pulled away. She must have sensed something cold in my countenance...

"Oh! I'm sorry," she whimpered, looking back to the fireplace, suppressing sob-induced hiccups.

Numbly and somewhat awkwardly, I stood then and retrieved the flickering candle on the floor nearby.

"What are these headaches that ail you, Mademoiselle?"

"It was bad dream." Was her abrupt reply, offered without the slightest pause. Recognizing intentional omission was one of my most developed skills. Perhaps because I had learned to do it so well over the years.

_Yes, I realize that. Why do I think she's evading the question?_

"Your head must ache tremendously?"

Ineptly, she sat up, resembling a child more so than a woman then with that forlorn look in her eyes. She weakly nodded. And to think I had improperly felt something when my bare fingers touched her!

Tea. I needed to make some tea, I though desperately.

_Chamomile, Lemon Balm, Peppermint, Rosemary, Feverfew, Lavender, Skullcap and Wood Betony Leaves and Flowers, and Roasted Dandelion Root._

This remedy soothed my own headaches when I lacked numerous hours' of sleep. In a fit of frenzied composition, this concoction saved the remnants of my unstable sanity by relieving the worst of them.

I had already turned to leave, ready to retrieve the teapot and I stopped to ask over my shoulder in a forced, imperturbable tone, "If I make something for these headaches, will you take it?"

Again she stared at me, though I felt her gaze, refusing to make contact. Was I afraid to? For some reason I felt she was hesitant. Briefly I wondered if she ever truly feared my intentions; risk of poisoning couldn't have been the cause of her anxiety.

The proceeding silence slightly irked me – could she not just simply reply? I was about to spin around and allow impatience to rule when she finally answered.

"Yes, thank you." Came her somewhat meek reply.

When I reached for a few small logs and tossed the wood bits into the fireplace, I felt a small sliver of the wood enter my skin. Damn the girl, she made me forget to put my gloves back on.

Desperate for distraction from yet another uncomfortable silence that followed, I filled a tea-ball with the mixture, and then set it aside before preparing the tea pot for boiling. How strange that most of my life had been filled with silence. Now it seemed more deafening when one had company! Perhaps my senses were getting used to the lack of solitude? Or…the presence of normal conversation?

Now I yearned incredibly to say something to fill the void!

"You say you had a bad dream?" _Yes, and it was of you, unmasked!_

"I have them now and again." The poor thing croaked, shakily wiping her face with her dress-sleeves. By a strange new reflex I reached into my vest pocket, and proffered a fresh, white handkerchief.

I wasn't sure which was more shocking - my strange, new gesture or that she accepted it. Or perhaps what stunned me the most was how she slowly opened it, and simply began to finger the fancily embroidered monogram that belonged to my poor, dead mother.

Was this what normal people did? Well, normal people did not gape the way I was doing currently. I had to think of something relevant to say.

"I have heard it said that if you talk about your dreams, it becomes a lot less frightening." _Unless you're a walking corpse in the chilled, cavernous, desolate bowels of the earth…_

Sitting on the armchair nearest to the fireplace, I leaned in with a poker to stoke the embers to gain some flames as I attempted to ignore the stinging of the splinter embedded between my forefingers.

Giving her a glance, I saw her open her mouth with the intention to speak, and she took an uneasy, trembling breath, "I'm…always fleeing from something…or someone…the dream is never my own, and I'm never free…I don't think I will ever be again."


End file.
